Cardinality and Clock Mending by Kristen Clanton

If I could paint the tempestuous nature of siren calls
and the burden of the beast in mind,

how silently you slept so still on holiday
in the blue-bloated skin of the sea—
the door unbolted those seven days
I searched, so sure you were here, just away.

Mornings of absence in oscillations without
pale dawn, waking gossips between moon and sea
are those same allures I swear you heard.

When I brush my teeth thinking:
Undead. Undead. Undead
there are moths in the mouth you left behind.


About Kristen Clanton