& there in the marbled timeline we each extended a branch to the empty
Tomb, inviting love
To decompress over the hills. His fat tongue & dark hair were equally
Inexcusable, but not to me. I didn’t listen
When his sovereign silence importuned me
With its questions, their insane detail
Accreting a report to be inscribed on the plastic case of a budget drone,
Flown up & up until its innards froze & it fell relentlessly
Into the sea.
Sight gives a birth but takes it back. The chaste maroon
He knew me for was a neon sign I’d switched off. I couldn’t maintain
The underside of a leaf—that lighter
Green, shaded & veined,
Riddled with stomata (from the Greek στόμα, mouth) that must remain open
To the air & its poisons
To give water.
Tom Snarsky teaches mathematics at Malden High School in Malden, Massachusetts, USA.