Lise Latreille, Untitled (photograph)
1. All Things Are Themselves
All things are themselves.
The serpent, the serpent.
The dream from which I woke
afraid
of waking. Waking, of having lost
everything
I tried to destroy. The pills
in the bowls. The leads
in my arm, wired
to my heart.
The reeds that for six days
leaned
with the wind, making
a sound only reeds can make
when they dream of being
men.
2. Lazarus's Lament
Every day I wake to unendurable gray &
the terrible weight of betrayal.
Am I more sorry I lived,
or that we live like this, in ashes,
elegy?
I regained and lost you in the same breath.
How could I know about love
when I had come back only when called,
and then
in rags, mumbling, shaking,
another man altogether?
3. Lady of Dark Waters
My wife wraps her arms around me. "I'm here," she says.
Flesh to flesh, a comfort. I lie for awhile
in the darkness, smelling her hair, listening to the rhythm
of her breathing. Waiting
for bodiless hands
to pull me back
under.