Small Precious Creatures

Come back
I want to say to myself. Before it’s too late. Before you are too far
          into the pines, before you
          step on the pelvic bones
          of small precious creatures
          and can’t see his face
          anymore. It will be enough;

it has to be.
You’ve forgotten twilight in all this blinding dawn.
          You’ve forgotten that figs are
          the true fruit of the underworld,
          that pine needles sound of rivers as they shift.

That the soul can be bruised and buried, is two-faced
like the coin—like Charon’s payment. But he will
          tell you to turn back.
          Because it is enough—this
          love. Even the gods concur.

Elegy for Something Not Yet Come

When I shed blood on those sheets of yours I stood and thought of all of the
things I couldn’t give you. Watched your hands move over the secrets of
me that even I will not look directly at.

                    I talk about petals and coffee grounds but
          this is the raw of it: some parts of my flesh will
          rebel against your love no matter how deeply I
          drink it. Lives ago I read you in the entrails of
          crows and mollusks, their bodies dark and fragrant.
                    I will grow you sweet dumplings and blue
          hubbards. Snap peas and artichokes. On my knees
          in the dirt, praying. Shedding blood and skin in
          thin sheaves like the insides of eyelids.
                    I had only peonies to look forward to. I
          spent all of those seasons dreaming of the way you
          touched me and took what you touched, never
          bringing you with me past the dawn.