Like if you could zip it and belt it:
This isn’t a coup, a flock of crows.
 
You find her naked on the bent reed,
One note, one note.
 
If you could dress her in harmonics
It would be apology.
 
Like you mean it this time.
Like you haven’t been saving up ballads, folk wolf.
 
Like her sad. Arpeggios
Swallowed and spliced thrumming
 
Akin to a fight and flight,
Smoke signal hanging tooth and nail.
 
Like if she hit your lips hard.
Like if she could hide you, wishing,
 
Wadded in one cheek. Like an
Ozark moon goes corn meal on the tongue
 
And bars cripple again in the glottis.
If you could hold her fast then slow,
 
Like you were as here as a decade is gone,
Mouth poised to be a cave.