a trifle scratched with a fingernail file into some stranger's parquet floor.
There was an accident--
I stumbled inside the nearest house,
leaving smears of blood like sloppy lipstick
on the glass panes of the study door.
Foolishly, I tried to kiss the air,
though it didn't have one molecule of your scent in it.
I fell, then crawled up into a chair, feeling sick and dizzy.
The alarms in the house were made of clarinets.
The police who came wore blue serge
and knew all the standards.
I told them I was delivering a donor poem,
so if they come up your walk with their little ice chest,
receive them. Remember your southern manners.
Eventually, the blood will wash out
and I will stay in my grave like a bookmark.
Until then, know that I was thinking of you
all the way up until the end.