If it were up to me, the bible would begin: A man steps into a field... I'd forgotten what was in the background when you took the photo of me I wouldn't see until later. When I did, it was just a wall, and my smile was a mouthful of rocks. A little after it was clicked off the T.V. screen's light condensed down a drain. Even when the television had become an aquarium full of black water that last bright dot burned in my eye. On the back of my photo you wrote, This isn't you, and you were right, it no longer was.
A Horse Grazes in My Shadow
after James Wright
Startled by my breath it bolts to the other end of the field. The horizon's brow rasps against a green cloud which seems both desperate and sincere. Into a dead tree a flame of bird drives its burning beak. And somewhere out here I have come to terms with my brother's suicide. I wish the god of this place would put me in its mouth until I dissolve, until the field doesn't end and I am broken open like a shotgun, swabbed clean.