Against  Stasis 

It’s snowing in a hushed voice.

The dead are an open secret
between us. We share their unfinished

jokes. We watch the wind
pass love notes between
desiccated leaves. You run

the drier, I the dishes. Salt
on the street gathers

in pixelated piles. Photos of our fathers

glare in disheveled light
but in certain angles, I catch their faces
reflecting ours. Iris frames. Unrequited

laughter. Their mouths stuck in
cuídates and catch you
laters. All evening I watch your braids

come loose and from bed we notice
our cat staring at a dark

corner of the ceiling, with no way
of explaining to her, it’s only water
and if there’s a ghost then

that ghost is also inside her.

Scrimshaw  of  a  Whale-fall

By half-ton of dynamite
or half-month of rot, beams of light
will divvy me up & leave my pelvis hanging
obsolete for a moment
above the crowds gathering. Some wait
for feast, some plant detonators & find
their cars flattened with entrails.
Maybe I could be a debutante
descending an ever-dimming
staircase. Pressure-thin & backwashed
in chunks on vacant beaches. Maybe
I’ll keep returning to you in pieces.
How in my vertical dreams my teeth fall
down the lining of your corset, my ambergris
settles in your perfume bottle and my fat flickers
in the lamplight helping you
carve my bones to the match the curve
of your lip. You could pry my jaw, exchange
a knotted language with me. Fish nets ripped
& no handkerchiefs but the magic
of dead krill circling our heads
in decaying halos. You could hide me
in the crook of your cupboard, in a half-
empty glass of half-drunk water.
Your whale in a cup, no one needs
to know. Stave off the ravenous
with this fuse. You know I could fall, I could
fall for hours.