by Sandra Miller
     if we weren't made of soot which we highly suspected/respected
     in her garden she had no garden
     we did not love her we did not let her picture fall from our wall
     forgive & foment no one kissed me where
     like bad jewels good black dirt
     what song can't do & does magnificent thumper in the wild
     'the secret blackness of milk' 'sordid intimacy of the abyss'
     when it became a corolla flickers
     you are like an angel yelling for
     attention still more still
     my lamentation is as perfect an almond a shell
     her eyes an altitude amnesic lover
     gathered her skirts to the blond chapel
     altarbirds follow us herehere herehere