Route 7 Review - Page 51

to reach the sink with clouds then settle as seawater, wait for rain to strike shatter and along the same path return as lightning from a fever that’s not a flower, still trembling the way her breasts curved are collecting dew –your hands are never wet enough and around your chest the scent splashes over the great weight you’re breathing in –what keeps you in the air is the full light from stars kept cold under running water draining their smoke for the surface stretching out, lifting the Earth closer and closer as if once you had something in half to put back. * Arm over arm you expect the way a child plays with sand though once inside this graveyard all that’s left from the ocean are the pilings holding on leaning against that gate where death came into this world as a wooden handle –you expect to carry away the Earth it knows about. * Even without a caress its petals wait, try more red than usual then sweets, sent along with the scent from the latest hillside till one grave blossoms before the others and you are at last alone beside a single afternoon, holding on