…forgot herself
that he would be like a princess
blessed across from you
blossomed lips
a breath away,
your laugh leaves
me cold with doubt
still your kindnesses
pink and blue flowers,
long after this dormant grass
past the fires and all the dead
batteries burnt matches
library books soot lathed,
long ago the last picture
show the last ’56 Chevy
out of the drive-in
absurd theatre
audience hammering home,
long after the rearmost look
will we remember
the kisses blown
from open hands
and flippant wrists
dissipating smoke rings
the papyrus of your skin
upon which critics crawled
to carve their handles
to try to lift you back
oomph circling overhead.
The Coming of the Toads 