Jenny Grassl
burn cinnamon your remorse
I will attend your systole and flu
favor speckle for heart take foxglove
burden in its tonic please don’t die
I do beseech you beloved and strange
bowed with soft shoulders of penitence
charcoal absorbing nausea petting your dog
wring hands sanitized wash wash
I see you work finger down to twitch
exorcise slam chemo at what’s left
you recover in hospice sniffing patchouli
gaze with Moses upon the snake
can grief be made to eat and faults
to persuade of sugar in the room
what poor planet for you by half a-melt
shall I stud with cloves a pomander
to hang in the stars to cure in the closet
of the known infected universe
