by Monica Ferrell

At the end of the night a poisonous star

Rises above Petersburg like a cancer-spot.

Cats, fevered, untranslatable,

Go long ways for secrets and fish heads.

Amorists hide in the alcoves

Of the swollen city, guarding their possessions;

I feel the feral marble machine of my heart

Leak mercury, my veins warm

When I hear two lovers twittering

In the chalice of their arms . . . There is something

Deliciously final about you, she says,

I cannot say what it is.

I cannot say who you are, he says,

Remind me.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.