Let this be an eraser Let this be a day Let this book turn inward on wheelbarrows Whose spokes set sail across the sound Whose sound grows absent as waves Let this sound restore the sex in want And sail across the sound By the time this reaches you, you will have grown to grieve me Let the memory of my sound and the brightness of wheelbarrows spell loneliness A tempest of flowers folds onto fields of delay And the absence of wanting sets sail And the dresser stands in abeyance Seeking a sound this redlined tree with leaves where does it come from where does it go times we play queen & servant for a day how we wish it could be different a generative act splits         the street with no trees at all still becomes greener flowers that wilt and bloom her lines are arresting, fall between pages, the light is lit again, the brain freezes and is gone months pass—I have no recollection of having received a letter certainly it will arrive soon in the mail from her return to sender I'm the last one the one who has all things being unequal I can stop meditating on fair realism no more than she can let go of this fish memory we grow things like ghosts we put things away Throwing out candles (little ones) Throwing out candles And wax into it If you were here we'd throw a big one Into that flame Though it's ironic, you'd say drink the alcohols So I'd sit in your shadow or near to it And drink the flame myself In the flame or near to it In the flame which is my wish As a tree for thought and the readymade of it The bargain comes next However plump