1478

(All my dreams in

vetiver and wormwood.

All my dreams in

vetiver and wormwood.)

-

Francis, like

soap and pine and sweat,

promised

everything green

and things to hold.

I say,

“Francis

everything hurts

and all my tenderness

is blue and outlined

in your call and how

I don’t know what

anything means.”

-

Once,

I told Francis about

Franklin crying

onto a couch cushion

in Louisville and how

I tried not

to vomit

while petting the dog and

she says,

“Honey.”

And that’s it, I guess.