then slowed as he fell, so he could watch
not the sisters-with dresses like sheets-
but beyond, perhaps: cow and ca lf,
a meadow nearing, a butterfly's teeter
under the air-p lump silk. So the parasols
that once had formed a floating raft
were given back to each gir l, as if a secret
might be better kept by being halved.
KATIE FORD
On Taking the
Body
Off the
Cross
The moon seems close, the docks are saturated,
a small boat rocking like a li ght seed caught
by the torn thread of a web, its catching
noticed only as what has not been heard,
lik e delay, rain on snow, the hiding
of an enve lope beneath ground. There are
night-moths over the water. Their shadow
of pieces hovers in the instinct
of what mass might be. Loose logs thud
up in the dock-wet wood on wet wood,
like a falling horse, its thin legs tangled,
its belly a brown sack that hits gro und
first, the freight of a sandbag we lift
and throw so we can go on li ving here.
