picture me–tall, no
direction and grinning.

shredded letters
I tried using
as fertilizer.

grow something from our
sudden valediction:
calendula,
jasmine to lighten the darker parts of my libations,
the ones that hold me under the bath water,
but just give it a fragrance of cure.

I prepare the lemon balm,
one cup of hot water,
watch the window blanket itself in white flakes
of anesthesia,
embrace the change in seasons
without a phone call or text,
hexed postcard,
or really,
much incident at all,
considering history. 

“succor”