Found in Willow Springs 82
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Draft/Mouth
If at our most dangerous / we
blink. If winter reveals itself
like a soldier's gibbous mouth.
If rows of silos give way to fire.
If Jonathan, my father's / ideal
son. If evening, a painted face/
I could peel off. If speak. If
with my own two hands, if
stained / sky. If for three days
I pull and pull / the soft white
thread of my name / from
my father's throat/ as he registers
me in the next room. If a house
wraps itself in thread/ until it is
no longer a house / but
rather the drafted boy / I might one
day become. If no waning
apology/ in my father's mouth,
if no lifted tracks. If
doused in petrol / my mouth's god like
a field filled with silent /
children. If each twirls in the
wind / until they lift apart. If
match, if strike.
