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Description
I kill you sometimes in my dreams,
like the sun rising
or the setting moon.
over and over.
It happens many times.

first i stop up your voice,
your mewls, groans, the limpid laughter
and confused sighs.
i hold them in my palm
and squeeze.

Next I blot out your face
as neatly as a arrow that penetrates
a small stack of hay.
I barrel into your form and pull out heartbroken phrases,
which i use to feather my fortress of thistle and bone.

At last even the sounds of your body are gone--
the succinct echo of footsteps against the ground,
decay in the gut, the quietness of tears,
a digestive squeak.

none of these survive the night.

I even carry with me the emptiness
where you once stood, hands at sides
like a sink slowly dripping water--
left, forgotten as the night unfolds
into the world of morning.