I will find you in the room at the highest tower
still staring out the window as if I never left.
There will be no sun, and the morning will be gone.
My body will speak for my tongue. It will want to bruise
your back into the floor, spread your spine across the
dusty tiles that I should have mopped three weeks ago.
But time has played tricks. This is not what I thought it was.
My eyes graze the nape of night and even the moon is disoriented
when she returns my gaze. I ask the stars what happened. Their
silence makes me howl. I start scavenging for scraps, any souvenir
that will help me remember. There are holes in my memory. Vultures linger,
picking at the bones until there is nothing left to tear off and swallow.