All Under

tuesday

the wind has risen, and
brought with it red dust
before hateful rain

friday

all night I coughed
until the pillow was wet with it

saturday

also

monday

she never lived
she would have loved the tiny ducklings
like dandelion clocks
on cornflake feet

december

everything is soot
my bite marked apple black with it
all the meat cooked dry

thursday

we raise our eyes across a table
the air begins to sting
someone’s hands over my ears

sunday

the door

june

I forget what I hoped for
the windows are stiff
I can’t even pretend to smell the sea

tuesday again

the wind is back in symmetry
the door
sunrise milked over hours

eleven o’ clock

coffee

monday

blood

tuesday

blood

wednesday

shit

thursday

the door
a cuckoo
a shadow nailed to a cross

friday sunset

the door
she takes my hand and steps over the dandelions
I can smell the sea
all under