No blemishes in the sky today, pure blue, blind eyes. I’m washing mud off my brothers ribcage with a garden hose, Gold earrings, painted knuckles, marbled eyes Cataract iris, sharp elbows, I buried the bad in the backyard, weeded among the bluebells. There are chunks of grief under unturned stones, And, I forget myself in an overgrown field. Again, I wash, Un-caking earth from your hollowed chest, A concave hole where your organs lie. This love can't be swallowed. It drags behind you like a wedding veil, Church masses croon, letting grieving heads finally wear down. What are you? Where have you been? All this time.
