hands in the garden

we plucked the last of
fruit infected
like

no tree nearby
objected,

flies forced to lap up
every drop
of milk,

on starched sleeves we
wiped our
mouths
then

belly slithered
south

through swollen
herd

deaf to truth’s
word

while bearing future
children
whom

would nourish those
devoid of
womb,

come crack of noon
on blistered
beach
we

paused to summon
rain-

our twin skeletons
aflame.

paths crossed twice
on our first
day

and its impact
echoes
now,

though tension won’t
allow me
to stay

in one place for
so long it
fades.