because you know
so you leave the cork alone
tempting not a man immortal
coming down from mountains, nauseous.
Hating your own name
since it's shared with competition;
rueful of the river
and all other separations:
his arms;
his bed;
his jealous head;
some railroad spikes;
a crucifix.
The day and clock against you.
Her drive an hour north.
That souvenir was missing
from her mantle, as predicted.
"Does fire scare you, honey?
Or do you yearn to burn?"
Here's what you've gleaned
from sheets you've shared:
There's nothing left to learn.
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