I am what you will wear forever. I walk carefully, so as not to jostle you inside me. It is early. I came to this open field to have words with the sky. A chapel of bones, my body is the house you will forget how to breathe in. I’ve already been warned, the doctors talking about syndromes & chromosomes. Remember everything will die. What reminder will you leave me with? This sad architecture of bone & bristle & sack cloth. This vanitas. On your walls, I hired a woman to paint a forest. The ceiling, a night sky. I wanted to give you the world. What mother has ever been more holy? Rain is coming & coming in the distance. Let us refrain from sinning. Tell me, again, about the woman who threw her daughter from the Skyway Bridge, I want to ask. The body, almost all water. Does it hurt to drown? There is something exotic about housing an idea. At the end of this longing, there will be almost three hundred days I can’t account for. I mean: you are the absence of landscape. I mean: in case of fire, I’d save you first.