in the kingdom of christ

feeling free just for a minute, you and

her, her boyfriend, his girlfriend,
bodies in a room in the heat of august and
one of you said or one of you meant to
say but didn’t, said no talking and
the others agreed, undressed and the baby slept

one of you was sorry afterwards and

one of you was stoned

brilliant sun in a dust-grey

sky, but no shadows

dead-end streets lined with weeds, abandoned

factories thick with
grease and empty premonitions and
one of you said this is a mistake even while you
were doing it again, even while you moaned
someone else’s name, while you screamed up
against the ceiling and, outside, just the
buzz of cicadas

just the stillness of time slipping away

silence like a smothering blanket and

one of you started to say but then one of
you said no talking, offered up lips or a breast,
the taste of sweat and the hum of electricity,
too may or not enough bodies and one of
you blind and one of you deaf and
always the absence of words

one of you without hope or without dreams, taste of

bare flesh on your tongue and the afternoon
brought up hard against dirty windows, the need
for language a thing of the past

(remembered saying i love you but

not to who and not how it brought you here)

(remembered laughter)

one of you feeling the press of someone else’s body

on either side of yours, hearing the news that the
bodies of 25 children had been found among the
dead, but this was a different day and so
why do you connect the two?

who is it that says the pain will

help bring you closer?

laughter, maybe, one of you or maybe

two, and a spilled drink

a broken glass and blood, not much, a

small cut and one of you licking the wound
and the silver sun and a heavy shroud of haze

(time stopped or spinning backwards)

(the one you know to be you crawling

away on filthy hands and raw knees)

a view of powerlines and rooftops,

shimmering trees and blurred hills, arms
around your waist, a hand at your throat and
another between your legs, a tongue, and
one of you says wait, one of you says
stop, and nobody listens

one of you has wings and one of

you wings tattooed

one of you roses, one of you sunflowers,

poppies, one of you the black iris blues and
if there is no father there can be no sin

(if there are no ghosts

there is nothing fear)

and one of you says this out loud

and one of you starts to cry and one
of you turns away

one of you still wants more

one of you always will