Xoma (2/2)

Our home in Xoma walks like the moon

Empathy converses with our frigid celebrations

No ring around your head will call you out

And because we don’t sing for the ocean

We know that lover, the lord has left us

Dead stares on an airplane

I feel cellophane candles under my plaguing retreat

A faint picture of someone I can’t recognize

Underneath the nesting dolls surrounded mice

Lightheaded and barely recollected

Drop the anchor to the door

Our afternoon is hell blue in its stead

Poured-out eyes crawl the scene open wide

Our leaves mistress abandoned us

To seal sins from kicking pigs