His love’s a blade this time of year.
Bright as the vernal equinox
Cold as the rain that ends the snow
Hard as the howling Lenten wind.
He made that blade to break my heart
To cut a furrow deep and straight
Beneath the salt and cigarettes
Into the darkness where I sleep.
To find and lay beneath the sun
All that which I have hidden there
All the buried coins and corpses
Secrets scattered to the seagulls.
Here his love comes, belching diesel
To till the fields of no-man’s-land
Pouring into my ripped-up heart
Seeds by the hundred million.