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.