This thing—
you would think, for example, that it
would show up when you are driving
through the gas fields of a neighboring state,
the air along the edges like hair on fire,
burning up the horizon—

but that would mean it is a feeling, or a
sense memory, something that can be
experienced and then forgotten, but
it is not. It is real, or has become real—

unexpectedly. With its chattering teeth,
its anxiety that death leads to nothing—
yes, it has moved in with you and it
weeps all day. Strangely, it is
attractive to you in a way that you
did not know you found attractive:
it is thin, pale, naked, sexless—this
is what you want now? What can that
possibly mean? That you are ready to
accept that love is boundless, faceless—
even forgiving—or that you were just
going along your lonely way and this
is what happened?

Ponder all you want. The average
survival time for the disease you have
is not that long and we need your house,
your car for a more promising experiment
And take that thing with you when you go
It is yours now, yours alone