I know, love. The anxieties are legion.
But for now, I would like if you could
return to me the absence of my face
from where you’ve been hanging
these ghosts on its edges like
draperies to keep out the draft.
I rather like the velocity of that chill.
I have other uses for these bones.
I want to feel the air run through them.
It is something else, the air.
But that word is the custom
in this place.
I try using terms you know
––air, face, bones––
because the rest will not
translate.
