“How I regret not opening

my mouth, the down-lit cast of my glance

where I studied that quality, sun-

runner, gold bodied, how could I

answer you with all this earth

piled on my tongue, your limbs

just stripped of anger, how could I say,

yes, there is something on my mind

rushing up as river in a locked car;

voice ruined, how could I explain the meteor

in my chest cavity, could I cluster verbs

into sardine cans and twist the lid

back on and tamp it shut with the

gold hammer of my must-not-say-

that, which huddled, parched,

as we said goodnight, see you

in the morning, don’t stay up too late.”