CLAIRE HERO
The White Train
Let this berth be as an accident of sand.
Multiplied form. A mouth full of tongues.
Inside we are twinned, red scalp
and matching breast. Outside,
pure desertness, en-folding,
un-. Wire of sun, barbed and obscene.
We follow its tracks—moonscrape, mirage of erasure.
The earth spins through wells of wind.
On the window ledge, two oranges.
Hem of light. Her cheek.
She is cut of route and block, her frock,
her clavicle and thigh.
Europe, a torn map. A closed eye. Sleep
a white train to the coast
where sinners limp through leaded glass.
Cathedrals of grass.
Windows absolve me.
I am saved, samed. I replicate:
this skin the jacquard, ear whorl and sand.
Pattern adores me. As matter to mind.
We share the same mouth. Vault of erosion.
She holds it fast
that we both may speak through it,
and I hold the hands. They open and open.
One hand unlatches. The others give me away.