mid-death in june

*
they bide their time those clouds
hiding in the sky's deep womb.

facing them now she spys her mother's face
above.displeased. hurrying past the past when once

as a child emily was broken, left shimmering
to pieces on the cold floor, only a smaller

child as witness. no one stops her dying then
or now. her head in the palm of the cozy gutter

dizzy toys wheel across her, over her hurt.
flying toys like lost planets housing perfectly

formed inhabitants, communicating without
a sound, making love without penetration.

bodies cottoned together. and she wants
to be there, between that soft white pulp

being filled up until every pore is fat with
some foreign light.