this bound body gives freely its bond: renders testimony above and below one small epoch of endless loss, miter-cut and framed for the sky, the cosmos, the stars in their witness box

still ready for a retying of trying to tendon and bone, left so long untended and alone,

we bury relief in the margin until it spoils: how corrosive the coping, how hopeful ruin's thin remedy, how we live greasy enough to beg that desire's residue leave our outline in oil against the wall.