Cavendishia

white hot like the spire

at the top of your head

like the scars on your face

your anger falling into footsteps

beside you, racing

to condemn the shadow that follows

you to all the

places and people you soon forget

a sliver wanting to remember

the weightlessness of childhood

I'm sorry I poked the hornet's nest

It was clear as day, but i had to know

I can still feel you smoldering

as I could from the beginning

the same way love coils into rage

and fumbling with what to do

not for me, no,

but for whatever happened to you

and if only you could control the rainfall

the way your mask forms

In the eraser mark evenings

In the wash-basin of your smile

as you sit vetting your life

again and again

by the silhouette

of the broken fountains