esprit - Academic Scranton - The University of Scranton

of sweat drifting down
your arm on the arm
of the couch; build me
some years, to keep
like the cicada shells
nested in your shirt
the one time—there’s the broken bracelet
of lights, strewn in lines
down the road, and all
the dust settling
itself down on the sunflowers
printed on your dress, hanging
off the table,
and the phone
lines cut
and shadows closing—
as quiet as something
like your hands opening
the blinds—on the walls…
the noons like paper
planes crumpled on the floor—
the leaves scratching the asphalt
no longer, and a part
of the drying blood
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