about an invisible war
there seems to be a danger in twisting
things. you’re reading a letter
and overhearing a song.
you feel a jolt, as if you’re struck
by lightning, only it’s stronger
than bolts of electricity. you want to sit
it down, bottles spinning inside your head.
and then it comes to you–you want to see
a past lover and slap him:
you fool, your silence is stronger
than a boulder. you strap me onto it,
i roll down a mountainside, expecting
that i forget the weight of your hands.
the air cackles with burnt aromas,
and the jolt becomes common, slips in
while you’re feeding the animals,
stirs with you from the bed,
swims with you in the pool.
when you sing in the shower,
thicker steam rises;
your skin knows you are marked.
light reflected from hung swords
make you gnash your teeth,
make you shiver with the cold of light.