Lie back, look up, let your faces one by one slip off | rise | float away like leaves | of burning paper | serene as Noh masks | those petals beyond | the wanting and the not | wanting | Or come to the bank | of the river | rest half out of the water | your face buried in the grass | weep | as I shelter you under an umbrella  | We say nothing, just | listen to the incurious | rush of the rain | as it falls, something to do with gravity | a certain poignant inanity | and we two | very close to it | You kneel | sheaf through a book of | samples of me | I am on my side | I’ll never have any children, but still | you stay faithful to me, kind of | The mammoth of what we were | going to be | caves in for eras | Dying without pain | so slowly | we don’t notice | that we long ago | threw away the black | salt of each other | tossed it into the wind | and if | we thought it might just fall | back into our shapes again | is that the reason | we wake as normal | to start a new day’s regime of haunting?


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)