day 15: I am in the garden, but


I am in the garden, but


Emily is gone.

The tree shake their fruit down –

apples, pears, plums, cherries

for my Body.


How to make a nasturtium

sound less like it’s name.

I hear a bell tolling

again and again:


the pears, their fat skins

copper in the dirt.

In the autumn they fall

beside the apples


and their peels rot

into vinegar, and I lay down in it

and imagine I am bathing in Emily’s breath –

under the dirt now,


just one bird perched on a gravestone,

singing a tune without words.

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