. . .

Prefix, in this humidity
light bulbs rust out in their sockets
& they are difficult to change.
In Oaxaca, I was told
the smell of skunk is good for the lungs.
The blessing can translate: benefit from it.
If I’m remembering this badly, forgive me.
The heat & too much of a good thing
makes us cloud worshipers.
I was trying to tell you something about dying,
or about death in general,
but I couldn’t get the appropriate language down.
Prefix, in
voyages
toward somewhere
where simple
is ample,
little can make me worry like words.
It isn’t just the names of the dead
abandoned & hard
enveloped in air
that will dissolve
like limestone.
That which would stop the water
will dissolve chiefly in water.
This is all infinitely more instant in air.
Down on the beach, a tiny black bee
got caught in my chest hair
while I was on a food tour
& I swore
immediacy is only cloths.
Now you tell me
what isn’t retrospect?


Love,
Suffix