There were moments I found true freedom
In sin. To be exact, three: my wife walking
Out of our house and into another, a place I
Only imagine because I have heard nothing
.
From her since; masturbating one morning
To a naked, forgettable girl winking at me,
It seemed, from some magazine; and this man
Butchering a cow another morning, years after.
.
Opening the animal with a soundless, falling
Motion seemed to be a holy act, a blessed
Release: the cow, heavy with more love than
Its body could contain, was freed – how it reached
.
Down towards earth; how it rejoiced in the meals
It would make; how it longed to finally become
Grass. The man learning, with each fall of his
Hand, the weight of death – how he has to give
.
And receive, eventually. Among these, I remember
The girl with the forgettable face the most. I wonder
About her spread-eagled limbs, how they made her
Look like she was falling away from herself. I wonder
.
If she has since moved on to greener pastures: how
She might be home right now, making someone
Supper. I wonder where I put her picture. But mostly
I wonder what it was she was seeing with her one
.
Closed eye, when the camera shutters flickered.
Was it a vision of her own body stretching out
And aiming for the world, and farther, into the future –
a man and a beautiful, blessed house she will never leave?
