comes to you from the song before it and that one from the song before that and so on these songs come to us
For Krystal, on the day we buried your mother Remember the time we buried a goldfish in a film canister? Copper-tinted tail folded, tucked
Your body compels my gazing— droplets on tail, wing, and crown are daffodil, redcurrant, moon-gray light. Museums of you descend and shadow the ground,