by David Spicer
Don’t genuflect if you see me in heaven.Instead, hush the ghosts hanging out by the scaffold and raise a bottle of mescal to me under the hickory,my throat breaking out in hives. I forgotmy necktie today, but the burlap manhas brought one for me. As I climb the stairway I gaze at my coffin waitingfor me in the trench by the train, and all my lovers squeal like deer dodginghorses. Holly, Cherry, and Willow gather by me to pray. Silence driftsinto the crowd wearing their masks. I can’t see their faces, but I have a hunchthey’re my wronged victims, and I hear a moan swell as I drop with a thudas the lighthouse in the distance begins its sleep, you touching me as I die this wayevery day before the evergreens sway and wake me with a hintof heaven’s breath I yearn to know.