Love Lies Bleeding

Lucky Six

Six days since the accident; the pier resembles a beached carcass.
Six times I asked the lowering granite firmament for a sign.


Six hours later the tide reaches for me, too. I back up but see her locket sparkling in the blistering swash.

Later at the café where we met – pills and crossword in my lap – I ask for a sign and roll the die.


Six Across: eight letters, three words, one meaning.

Till the Mayan Soil

Bend low, bend low, bend low, all ye, for the wind steals all other sounds.

Affix your heart, cloud your eyes, and bend an ear low to the red, red ground.

Till Mayan soils, soaked with fertility, bring this message ‘cross windblown seas.

Bend low — to water, too — till leaping summer dragonets distract you no more.

And know what comes is not for thee.
Bend low, bend low,
And hear my love’s lamenting eulogy.