}ENNIFER MOORE
THEN YOU
(1)
The sky grew bees, the clouds spilled a kind of honey. I let myself be close to your mouth. In the backyard of my life, rye grass made a small pillow for our sleep; the apple bucket filled on its own and snap peas offered me sugar. There were bells where there weren't bells before. I tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. What I mean is, there are ways to avoid speaking. (2)
What used to be a cloud curled up in the sky and spread to our house; it's a piece of weather that interrupts. Where the sun should have been, the moon like a sling; by the door, a bucket of wasps. Left alone, I hear my ears repairing themselves, doorbells ringing in cartilage.
THENYOU I 69