Poetry

Drowned in unclogged arteries: 
thoughts. 
I am going to release a swarm 
of bees. It was your dark hour. 
A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. 
 
A restive finger 
on a blue gun invites the ghosts 
to witness a burial of a fractured faith. 
Thieves were waiting in wings. 
A silent intimacy becomes invisible. 
 
Sit back and comb the house 
before it catches fire. 
The earth spins in your eyes when you 
pay the debt of a river; 
when we were kneading the mountain.