mourning

 if i thought the words would bring you back

id only have 

muttered them under my breath

because it’s no use sleeping with the 

ghost

of someone else’s past.

and if drinking sips from out a holy cup

will keep us

all from shriveling up then

maybe we are better off buried

down

below the darkened ground.

we’re all martyrs

sheepherders

and bags of bones

July

 the simple needs

of ever bare feet
dry wines
mild summertime
and the concern
in your eyes

when you wake to see me not asleep.

i'd confess the reasons
but i'd like not to
lessen gravity in any place
or way