The Wonderfully Long, Hot Summer
Tonight in my wrists a firefly
bats like a pulse. The hospital,
a place of constant hazard.
And over the wires you are a more
lucid mishap; a bargain, a stack of
mass and sweat with a name.
A man and a woman, we’re
pinning down our vistas,
play-acting house and faking it well.
When you visit, we don’t talk.
You are dead. When you
visit me, you are dead.
What did I do to deserve this
habit of a lifetime? Falling back
out of love before a man falls
back in love with me.