GLASS CINDERS
Emerge, lion-maimed. Expand
a monstrous mouth. Between awe
and the child without a face, know
of the wolf. Remark: “Shame
in its creature heart,” but never
needle it. That emits bones, notes
its tongue. A lizard has her dividing
masks, will also voice means: if that
was at the atrium, the sister terrarium’s
difference is picture crystals: common
peaches. The icicles: glass cinders.
A water flame unfurled, a child
face, a window circle, a rose voice,
a lizard figure, a capitalized sun dot—
not a word painting. The grass hovel
where mercury wanders but points
monolithically treats intimately
this written wheezing, becomes
still, looks south against the last.
Know when. Take back. Awe in.
Do for. Eat there. Call to. Gather
my Dorothea. Trust always
her broken-signal stillness,
the broken paper bird, if it appears.
Notice the child. Awe. Know her
name: Dorothea. Take this name:
Dorothea. Take her name.
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