She isn’t going to tell
you or your brother
what she’s doing
with your other brother.
She doesn’t want
to know what you think
of her sister, or
what you plan to do
with her cousin.
She’s writing a book
without faces, without
links to anything
save
the fence she hopes
to break through.
Through galvanized steel diamonds,
we exchange words. I can almost feel
your breath brush off
this skin I wear. As much as I want
that zinc and wire to dissolve
so I can touch your blues harp marred lips,
please don’t sing them to pieces.
I need you
to disappear
into the curve of your unspoken
phrases, so I can continue
to be blown away
with these tree branches breaking against night.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 