So Much Memory

Now he answers to everything that reminds him of her,

a crib rocking, a circle of faces

crowing at him. He can neither leave his eyes open

nor shut them. Splits the night

walking between two cornfields, striding

like he’s going for the thing he’ll never find.

See how he runs his hands over his body,

how his skin peels. After a night of crying,

he can feel her limbs in his palms,

versified, nothing made of flesh;

nothing made of bone. He opens his mind

and lets the leaves be his skin

and lets a song fall inside another song:

it mimics his daughter’s voice.