Tonight, each dark shape is a dead animal On the roof, I saw the corpse of a dog at my feet Then a deer, its legs dangled over the ledge I talk a lot about a lot of things Self-hatred, UFOs, loneliness I talk and talk and talk, and still my bedside is expectant Whose shape would I call forth from the night If I had such a moonly power? I thought of them today They told me a fable about the philtrum We kissed, in the basement of the chapel Not them, though I grew thirsty for their eyelashes Nor him, the blue-eyed exam Nor her, the forlorn marble Perhaps you, you latest daythought It is summer, which is our season I drank too deep from the cup of my memories The bottom was only a mirror, and I couldn’t peer past myself To find your shoulders, turning away No, the thing I would summon has nothing like a name It is nothing like a person Though a man once wore its shadow And brimmed me with desert stars It is nothing like a place Though I have walked the rain-black woods And the mud is still on my feet It is nothing like a time Though it is often past midnight, and full-mooned It is probably death But I don’t want to die I don’t want you, I want your peaches The ones we ate in your wide white bed The bitter skin split between my teeth My whole July turned sweet