to whom she could lend an ear
in return for a bed that was wider than one?
Her eyes remained anchored
on some furry distance, a furrow eased from her brow.
Let yourself go, she said to herself, and she did
know how after all. The night continued the day.
A murder of crows went by. What would she have?
The last beloved restored
to canvas and hanging a knife through his heart?
Or a new who excelled where others had fizzled to Fail,
floundering fish on a shoal. Let go the leash
of the bad dogs that are dragging you this way and that.
And indeed, the hand could unclapse (Look at that!).
The leash fell at her feet.
Across the room, five fish in a tank made six meager moves,
the last through the castle that kept them
denizens of the splendid
language they spoke sotto voce.
KAY RYAN
Death
by
Fruit
Only the crudest
of the
vanitas
set
ever thought you
had
to get
a skull into the picture
whether you needed
its tallowy color
near the grapes or not.
Others, stopping to consider
shapes and textures,
often discovered that
eggs or aubergines
