Body Lies

by Conyer Clayton

Earth lives loud, with groaning
plates and thunder. It lies still with a simmering
temper. Deep breath, deep
breath, timely eruption, moving boundaries.
I speak faster —
I have authority. I rumble —
an intimidation. The waves
slap our skin.

*

That time we walked in the rain with a bottle of wine, but
how I got cold after an hour and missed the chance to
kiss you under a tree, is

the constancy of desire, repeated chiming
of clocks. Truth only in tongues.
A robin with a broken wing.
Dead bird on the sidewalk.
Glass — an unexpected warrant.

Death is a voice on the phone.
You didn’t say hi the same way, you took
such a strange breath.