Things you have lost to the wind
Swim trunks, sucked from their drying;
into the water; two nights
of sleep, when your door
was sledged open by the gusts.
A knife skittered to the kitchen floor.
You flew up from your sheets, sloughing
sand. And sand. And sand smeared
across your eyelids. Sand
in your bath. Sand cracking in each
bite of gigantes plaki. Dense
meat of the beans yielding
grains, coarse as bones. You have become
a sand eater, like Anthony,
who swallowed the alkaline hummocks
of the Nitrian and breathed out
glass; who lodged himself deep
in the fat of a landscape shimmering
and still and consecrated
as a bomb site. Charred stone.
Or Mehmed Pasha, that master
Turkish alchemist, who took the sands
of Deir ez-Zor and transmuted them to mass
graves. No. Leave the dunes.
Go to the docks, where the Aegean
rolls its coils, thick as adders.
The wind picks at you like a bath.
Stretch a damp cloth across your face.
Pregnant Girl Wades Naked into Canadohta Lake, Pennsylvania
The night as quiet as horses. Pulsing with
its tender agonies: a badger pulls
a worm up from the dirt, a hound sucks slurs
of blood off of its frozen paws. The
animal warmth of the boy’s breath on your back.
Predatory and blameless. You
his fertility idol his Venus
fat hipped ponderous smeared with morning dew.
Fall asleep in the back of his Chevy.
The radio buzzing like hornets.
Through the dark his vertebrae grinning
at you like a necklace of molars.
Slow as fog, belly slides into June
water, roiling with bluegill, with egg of bluegill.