BLUE BALLS

Sorted the wine in decanters
with the clasp screwed. They panted
in the dead brother's room, or
might as well have together
the new made man, the different daughter
and the waves licking the truck
in the yard. The wheat and chaff
canned in the fridge and aged.
Significant nights fermented meaning.

The arch of wonder.
It was a bottlenecked ambush. Words drizzled
carelessly into their mouths and pits
made them cry, climbing. Prettily in the reaching
distance it sunk. Then the tear of surprise, and she thought,
'I am not here' she thought 'Oops.'
They breathed in the dead brother's room.

After their hasty retreat he parted
the square of light from the bathroom in the hall
and stayed for a while. Edges already blurring
she let him follow her away. Ran her tongue
against her molars and wetted sharply
the downy curve of her cheeks.
An ambiguous arm clinched her belly,
with a tendering guilt. Awaking
in separate geographies.

Blue berries. Blue in the night. The morning.