He studies me for a second before facing the road again, his jaw set. My breath is caught in my throat. I clear it, arranging my thoughts. It was just an outburst, a loss of patience: I am safe.
“We can’t take it all,” her brother had said, tossing memories in a bin bag like kittens for drowning.
Bright rays reflect, shape, shake her portrait on the water skin
and it’s broken, burnt, soon gone.
Get some hens
dig up the garden
sow and plant.
From the yew-dark wool you pulled
over my eyeball,
knit one, maul one,
you made a beam