I swear hand on book
Your spine is made of a willow branch
Each leaf a dead rail beak
Mouthing off like mother.
Her breast is still yours, you say
Baby rail bird. To milk as you please.
Bird milk.
To utter fat cow like please
Like thank you like no thank you
You goat horn tit face.
And that’s the way it go I go she go he.
I never heard of that word.
You say it is American?
I say it sounds like when
You put your cheek
To hover over soup.
Just for warmy
Just for
Close your eyes
And wish for other.
Just to open your eyes again.
Brother.
Brother I want to kiss you on the mouth.
And call you mother.
Hover over soup.
So we make pullovers
Out of the duckweed that
Stew there in the riversink.
Scoop it with our teeny teaspoons
Only in our white underwear.
Only not in our white underwear.
Only leeches stuck back of knee
Suckling bird milk
From your willow spine.
Suckling marrow until we are both dry
Dry willow branches sputtering milk-dust
Yes, on the eve of the last day of her life.
