When the sun sets

When the sun sets,
The man nextdoor grabs his hat
And a cane. I hear his door
Whisper shut.
He walks the lawn
With tepid footsteps,
Gestures with a cupped hand
At my face in the window.

His daughter has eaglebreasts.
I dream that once
My head might rest
In her nesty flesh.
When her light fades out
And her silhouette is absorbed,
My dreams
Are all dimples and folds
And pure pure white.
When I dream
She's always in my sight.

When the sun shows up again,
A wooden tap roosters
Me awake. There is no wave
From his tired hands; his eyes
Lie on skin pillows
And don't see me
Blink through the blinds.
I know he'd call
My dreams unkind,
But that's because
A daughter differs
From a shadow,
From a distant image
Small enough to carry
In my pocket.
If I knew his name
I'd say 'I'm sorry.'

County Park

I drowned you in this pond.
I breathed the air that hit the surface,
The bubbles of your lungs and lips.
Your arms did not struggle, while mine
Were wrapped by sludgy weeds
And abandoned lily pads. It's a shame
That no one saw me.

On the reedy shore, my shoes
Were slicked with goose shit.
I saw a man catch a fish,
His orange bobber floating above your body,
And he cast again, lusty and impatient.
He caught another. Another flowing
Flick of the wrist, and a third fish
Flew up with his hook. Their breath
Stunk of your tears. How nutritious your sorrow,
When fish will risk an iron barb
To eat their fill.

Soon, the rod was halted.
There was no sport in it. The pond
Became speckled with scaly bellies, and the frogs
Jumped from fish to fish. Your tears
A new lake created, with an ocean's
Salinity. On the bank, I cupped
A hand and fed my mouth, but my throat
Choked on the thickness, and my lips
Were painted a salty red. I had to leave.
I'm afraid I can't go back.