My body of course remained but all else
was a cluster of tiny white bubbles
floating up, up, up, to an unseen top.

I wake from the dream another person, tasting metal
or salt, smelling turpentine, my shoulder askew and
my jaw out of whack. My father has not been stabbed

I’m glad to feel you breathing. There is time,
There will be time, we must make time for words,

                      Wash out the blood and know it’s not your own.
                      Think there will be choirs when you go home.

The possibility came and went, came and went;

mysterious ocean mirrors
being that blaze
that fail at spawned oxygen meters

Did we run out of things or just a name for you?
Above us the sun doubles its acclaim for you.

Negative sun or negative shade pulled from the ground …

        Their footsteps formed the paisley when Parvati, angry 
        after a quarrel, ran away from Shiva. He eventually 
        caught up with her. To commemorate their reunion, he 

The trees were soon hushed in the resonance
of darkest emerald as we rushed by
on 322, that route which took us from

we all—Save the couple!—returned to pain,
some in Massachusetts, some in Kashmir
where, wet by turns, Order’s dry campaign