Dear Elsa,

I fear the westerly winds have stolen your scent.

I no longer find your face in our favorite places.

Your palm prints on my skin have faded with each of her kisses.

The poison has reached my bones – 

I barely recall the tom-tom beat of your heart.

She’s too thorough; she saw tearstains on the sheets

And switched the Egyptian cotton to Chinese silk.

Last night I had the nightmare, remember? The one where

I fall and fall and fall, hurled by some formless creature 
Of the dark. Drawing the breaths of a drowning man,

I woke with my head clasped to her chest –

I had her name on my tongue.    

Instant Dust

Throw your handful of dust in the air,

Hold it to the flame of the sun,

Let it mingle with the rain and ride

On the four winds to the four corners;

Find patterns in its patternless swirls through the yawning void.    

Whether a rapturous bow colors the eastern sky,  

Or a confused wind howls curses in the dark,      

Take the instant by her delicate throat

And lay waste to the bounty she offers.

Tomorrow’s lesson: the taste of shadows and dust.