You lean on a bike. The smell of mulch circles us like relatives.
Tastes softer, you say of the air. Shivering, the willows rejoice.
**
White blossoms burn up the cherry tree, a wildfire
of clouds. I don’t soften. It’s not that simple.
**
At noon I’m lighter than pennies. That a friend once knew
my name means little. Amnesia, with a crown of wilting mayflies.
**
The shitheap of this backdrop is organic. Actually alive,
writhing with pink viscera. As if to say: follow.
**
Things were better once. Not so. Can be.
Changes are raining all over.
**
Having lived several lifetimes in the hull of a body. A flesh.
And again. The story we drowned in clothes us. A tongue. Half a land.
**
Dusk, thin as paper, between our two hands. In both us, the urge
to be less than one. There are so many things we can’t stop. Why should we.
**
I check on you in a place you can never be. Unstrung. A holy whisper
completely whiffed. Like the night sky can we ever really say goodbye.
**
The birds will not stop fucking singing. Coo-coo ruckus—
Their votives increase hourly. They still haven’t arrived yet, the stars.

JM Emery is a Chicago-based poet. During the day he works for the government, most recently on initiatives around maternal and infant health. 

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