this flame remembering candles your bones
So many windows splitting aloneness
make the skyline a colander strain night and day into ruins
Do you see what breaks in my rooms
Memory a blade churning heat
bomber planes you swore had flown
in your bedroom your past sliding
like eggs on a buttered pan the day before you died
Cars machine-gun I look out my window and see Sunday
stroking the city tangled sun
water-towers kneeling
republic of phenomena between the clouds
Death chiseling its own empire for our fluid
stone fire navigating light
—in memory of my father
