Like how a late night whiskey apothecary becomes
blurrier each sip, jar filled with tips,
teeth filled with ambrette seeds, the muskmallow
scent turned to stench, a never-ending hospital trip.
I only learned how to sing in three colors, all blue --
robin's egg for waking
cerulean for joy
midnight for mourning. Where should I put it down, this bone-ache? This heart, arteries like roots beneath the wildfire-scorched forest, suspended like a suddenness. For 45 days I have watched Spring unfold beyond my reach, homebound for the rabbits, the deer bones lost to the snow back when isolation could break on a steaming cup whim. I liked you best basket-woven and piecemeal– How wild lavender, wide wild the fields between this moment and then.