each vertebrae imprinted a sea of skin
convincing her of the solidness inside �
his spine was a subject taboo as the moon

������������no more moon, enough has been said:

the moon broken like a fingernail prying
open secrets, full moon round as surprise
moons over miami, over my hammy
a chain-restaurant petit dejeuner for two

before which nothing was stamped out
or processed � her fingers, delicate
as Galapagos hawks, stopped at each island rise,
her touch soft as favors asked for by children

����hers perhaps, the children, or his but not theirs
��������(islands stretched off the coast like stolen summer days)

crazy birds! their song a conscience � metal birds
not of guts and feathers, but of reminders,
buzzed lovers in their flight path
with the monotonous voices of monks' prayers,

voices he�d slap away while she smothered
her face in the pillows � he cultivated red flowers,
brilliant as merlot sloshes on the sheets

�����������days passed
�����������������like cigarette ash� �
�����������������
until he drove away, careening down hill,
and she spun off

��������������������������looking backwards,
�����������������������������������looking back

~