And what about the empire of sadness?
As if my tongue had not been swallowed.
You see, there were these men. There were
things, bird things, sitting on delicate wires.
I believed they were holding back the sky
which looked heavier every month
the circle of green grass smaller
every time I glanced back, every time
I thought to reckon on the hour—
what time was it, when I picked up
my belly and walked? Into that space
between our voices. You and I.
These men multiple, standing in their coats
and hats. Around that ring of grass
as if it were the grave of something.