Blacksmith

in calcite, trimmed dark
cubes in blue detail
wrote you in smoke
your habitat, I went
hesitant, someday
a willed structure
reaches, limes, a
monk among crossings
since the future curves
write me back
for I am in need of words

10

Our body, released of vaccines,

and rain skids down the sides of the sky

anvils resemble themselves

the world is a forest of flesh.

my kindnesses are clean, my voice

a book of gems twisting

like a Persian prince, the day sharpens

the icicles of Easter;

unfolding the mystical carved boxes

with my nauseous fiancee

I will live in a cellar,

the only antidote to fear