Waldgeist

The souls trapped
in the trees in Dante’s forest
of suicides can only speak
when their branches are broken
as they bleed.

What else is language
now but injury: why did you
break me?

Why did you leave me?

And relief: to bleed
in one place, for one reason,
to say I failed to live
sanely on earth
without you.

---

 

Sheathe

Even in the dream,
we lie awake in the
dark, side by side.

When I ask
if you’re dead, you say,
Alive in your mind.

And of the four truths,
I remember two: we are
alone, we will suffer.

It’s no wonder
we cannot sleep.

We cannot die,
your cool hand
in my hand, carved
from ivory or ice.

---

 

Ignis Fatuus

It is possible to be
lovely in the dark.

A few thin trees
leaning toward
each other.

In ghost or pale
light, my fingers
on my lips.

If to speak is to die,
I will whisper.

If to speak is to die,
I will make
trees of my hands—

I will say nothing
by shivering, I will
say everything.