children
on the shining path
to nowhere
mothers
in liquefaction
fathers…
who in death
stretch their
tendons
into
stick figures
running in moonlight
my family
their skin, their eyes
that love me
but death is not with child
nor is she a soliloquy
droned in deep water
nor stop motion
milk spilt black
neither death nor life
exist this Saturday
at three o’clock
in the empty hospital
where my warm fingers
drum equipment
waiting