I.

Relax, no song is written,
nothing you thought of yourself.
It's just a ghost
that came unbidden
to this house.
This infection grows stronger every year,
this seed inside the water of your tear.
There is no escaping it.
This seed blooming in the water of your tear
the way an unborn baby's ear unfolds in your belly.
This infection grows stronger every year,
this direction of a tear rolling down your cheek,
there is no escaping it.
There is no escaping
the thing that is making its home in your radio.

II.

Bless this tiny alley
we have fallen from tall buildings
we have fallen
bless the birth of him
the chapel he was killed in
all these tiny flowers
they have sat under the sidewalk
they have waited for the pieces
of the summer sun to show us
all that is your beauty and
all that is your treasure
I could smell your skin beside me
say I hope I'm here forever
but captain with your lovers
with your list of favorite pillows
with your favorite list of children
and the wall where you drew windows
overlooking tiny gardens
cut in two by jagged mountains
and the secret sacred sharing
that went on beside the fountain
where the water waits forever
for a tiny tiny treasure
that will rise up and recover
that will leave this tiny alley
when you meet me in the garden
with your wings all dipped in cedar
all these spirits brushing past me
brushing past me in the ether
say "all this is window dressing
all you are is flimsy curtains
you will flame up with a word from us
and won't know that you're burning."