You wrap my fingers in the leaves, wintergreen, 

twisting psalms between loose teeth. 

Bound, I swear to something sharp 

as my father’s nose, your mother’s mouth. 

You harvest my handship

before the bruising of the midrib,

as the kingfisher breaks

his bill on a bone-eared stone. 

Minnows scarper upstream, no longer monarchs. 

Beneath our casuarina tree, you are 

deadheading asphodels. We watch

white tongues curdle by our feet.