LOT ❋ Olivia Wood

In keeping the body private that morning,
Her hand sucking between the saucer and the cup—

Leisure did not occur it had been acquired,
I am not leisure in second person.

The red of the red work, she will be alone in this
For a month at least. The way out makes me

Angrier than I can imagine,
Than you could. Repetition quiets, binds,

Repetition educates and distills, mutes me, I desire it
Do you remember desire? How do I write

Hanging for three days then
Hold forgiveness? Forget dexterity, my lot,

my lot swinging down lifeless
my lot foraging through along swan island without me

And I here determining gifts, fashioning girdles,
Noteless, divining, without eyes or fins

The legs packed in hard with earth, our legend leaking on
Ahead without us.