1) your lover is dead and
you burn the eggs. grease
streaks the stove. you
sit, stand, switch off
the burner. sit.
the birds chirp. sit.
2) your lover is dead and
the birds are hungry:
the blue-jay funereal
blue, mockingbird
sick ocean grey.
you shore yourself
against the bare mattress,
empty mason jars, your
mother's phone calls,
bestsellers commended
by desk receptionists.
the author's name
dwarfs the title,
that means it's good.
that means it's popular.
you spill tea
and soak its pages
and sit. sit.
3) your lover is dead and
the tea is cold.
the leaves have settled
in rorschach patterns.
the tea is hot:
when it's poured.
when you walk away.
you open your mouth.
close it.
4) your lover is dead and
you can learn no more
languages. dust sheaves
on books, in sunroom-motes.
half-eight, you feed the cat.
she scratches the door.
you say nothing:
5) your lover is dead and
you've fallen asleep.
your lover is dead and
6) you know that mockingbird don't sing
we never had no diamond rings






