April

I can feel the bones of my face from inside

Somewhere in between pain and red

Like the flat space in back of my eyes.

Nothing could be as bright as this sky.

(Within the church they're praising the dead.)

I can feel the bones of my face from inside.

I don't think I have the right to cry,

So I huddle out here and cough instead,

Bending the flat space in back of my eyes.

Blueness blackens the tips of the pines

As I count my breaths, as I raise my head.

(I can feel the bones of my face from inside.)

Now I am silent I cannot hide

Here in the light away from what's said.

I feel the bones of my face from inside

And the flat space in back of my eyes.

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