something like that

drowning on tears

so slow, so so so slow;

starving on bits of taste—

morsels, mumbles, mewling mist;

that mirage with a splash of sand,

that caress with heft like a glove like a hand

how long after long is done

how now, not then, never when

semblances and resemblances and blandishments

stutter to a stoppered sob; till later, till don't know when, till when comes again

till the ground: slow lengthened gash, turned clods, odorous dark rolls, pulled pleading

since-- some spring, seeds and sod secreted warmth-- something must be torn away.

[a divorced poem]