2×2

I know myself through a hammered tin mirror.

Grief, I can promise you no shortage of that

Plus a long drink on a blanched-out creek with the white sun overhead sending heatseeking missiles to our exact location, a gray rock in the world

Flower crown, coneflowers, creeping buttercup, white clover; strings of them around the yellow maypole

Grief? I am no stranger to that

I know myself pink and beautiful in neon barlight and

Barely recognize myself in the morning

I’m a Lord of base things and

Bashful about myself- love the smell of vetiver and bleach and basil and tomato stems; love the feeling of wind off water; love to watch people cry

Better them than I

Know myself too well

Two by two

Grief, grief evaporates in hell