for Luke, 1981–1997

Never cook a tiny goddess or have less love.

That summer we’d already lived
with the smell for a long time
before we knew
where it came from
or what it was.

we pound petal boy
leaving language and rocking
you and raw puppy urges
it has crushed you

Inside the stove’s sheetmetal box,
we found a small mummified mouse
still hanging to the wiring
by it’s fingernails.

white light music
gorgeous bed me diamond 

By then you’d gone.
I took a photo of the room
and everything in it,
opened all the windows

and drove away fast.

through the dream shot a car
mother likes the wind