Thirty drops in a warm tumbler of lemonade
flood, for now, a cavern the Speedwell ripped open.
Three nights his dreams glisten with constellations.

Lemnos, you harbor me, moon-mountained
   and reticent, motionless in flux.
Dusk festers too long in the distance,

Those who think only of weakness and pain,
   if they bothered to come here at all,
failed to hear in that homemade salpinx

Since everything I claim might be denied,
when I have the strength to forget, I forget.
And when I don’t, what an Elysium

lit like a field of deplorable ice
then plunged back into their own birdlessness.

and I wander around on the ceiling
in my funeral clothes among the gaudy
mushrooms of lightbulbs until I am struck

As for disappointments she’s had her share,
joining now with the horizon’s grief