Your curls are soaked in gold but your fingers 
cling to my back & could work 
a filament & needle through 
the gash that leads to the decayed 
rafters of a barn 
hush the pigeons who coo there 
one by one by 
breaking their necks 
The river smells of September wending 
through the dry fields 
a blue vein 
your thumb traces along a wrist 
my wrist 
careful never 
to the source 
I’ve slept with the image of your 
arm on my chest 
your breath collects in the tiniest 
droplets on my neck 
but touching myself 
to your scalp’s human smell 
tarnishes the mirror’s 
silver backing 
Another woman holds 
your beloved’s hands 
You hold me like the blue 
of an egg you’ve found 
bulging from the grass 
Trade your house key for 
a clutch of mums 
we'll put in water on the sill 
Fold your ring 
in the chapped hand of a man 
waiting by the exit ramp 
though the jingle of coins or 
a bitten chicken sandwich 
would do 
Turn to me & lift your hair 
I’ll clasp on you a necklace 
strung with the heads of snakes 
Copyright © 2020 by Kyle Churney. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 7, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.