/ by Vincent Carafano

 

wielding tenor    for three summers

     I prayed you’d catch

 

a deep grip of the unknown sub rhythm

     and manifest alone

 

you are welcome in my backyard

 

on the bed    I showed you a gun

the bullets clipped-out   

       across the satin spread    

 

on the boat    you kept to the back

hissing at the dog with

raw meat   

 

in your mouth    welcome

 

welcome

if I am the hand of God

let the gates be the bell.