Jagged brick shank Dragged day long-slow Across breathing walls Huff spurts of clouds While everything dulls In a cooling sigh With blood darkening in the east Night trees mime Outstretched and clenched Water takes deep Raspy breaths, reflecting In the pale skin The beasts feed Until tiny birds moan With heads leaned back As the desperate made Knife glistens turned In another cut

Shaking a grainy Photograph. I don’t know of what; Antique light bulbs Found in a dead grand- -mother’s attic. Phosphorous water color On the floor Smudges one parked car Into the next. The streets are unwashed Socks of crust wrinkles; And a smell of soil. There are no shadows To bleed in. Chicken soup sits In the cabinet. People hide Under the covers In mounds of retreat; Dead mouths open. Cold pillows squirm Sickened. Gaunt trees groan. And we wait For the cold sweat Fog to break.