fallout salutation

dawn is the car-ride home

after burying the body. luckily,

my bones no longer respond to

light. or even cold. when the

bathroom sink drains, slower

than usual, i will baptize my

fingers in the frothy mix.

minty fresh our only God now.

January holds one boy hostage

and bids another goodbye. when we

ran together early last spring,

deodorant singeing the air, snow

still sweating along asphalt, only

the birds knew what was to come.

no wonder they took feed quietly

that morning. the train tracks

whispered our names, one syllable

loping into the next, wavelength

limping towards shadow. these days,

i collect what's left under the

metal and stitch together a

signature. this way, when i write you, 

love brimming at the crown, at least

you'll know it's me.