streets of sparrows

the two of you

in your flannel

gowns

laughing at

the north pole

a silence

as the dogs bark

men wash

their hands

in blood

every day

not unlike

it could have

been an assignment

or eating another

barracuda

the two of you

possessionless

possessions got nothing

to do

with it

your veins are

your memories

and your whispering

is the great

red horse