October Grief

Dust in a machine,
overheated thoughts trigger
emergency shutdowns. Zigzag

is not a place. This is
the only place
where rain comes in threads

that won’t dissolve
the glue she uses
to hold what’s left

of her together.

Mount

Glass poems collect
dust in a case
that used to hold
taxidermy fodder.

It could be her head
(not the stuffed bird’s) this time
that flies off—this night
could be the one

she witnesses outside first
before locking herself back in.