toothless as salt: crimped rim. Overfed gateness. 
A little leaflet of tears lilts, falls out. Garden 
chewing on the stars and enclosed, the fissure 
you’re hearing sinks what you’re hearing in the days, 
toothless as salt. I guard you, I read 
until I am carved. 


a hole that rotates into a day thus largely I survive 
apocryphal event and reason to hang her harp 
through the convolvulus of an engine of our love: 
that all dolls like ours be beaten, be written, be teared 
away. I had produced no music. And the friends move on.