for A.T.

we send them both off bare-chested into the den to plug in their machines and watch the images on screens morph into shapes they assume for the duration of the spell     in Guadalajara the trees bloom and then wilt spent spine curved like a question mark I send you messages while they are occupied that sound like branches snapping or me lapping up your saliva     when he is next to me the proximity can lie or at least slant the truths the dreams speak to me as dire as any sibyl mouthing doomed doomed     I imagine your hand is less bony than his and that your tongue when it reads words aloud from the page hits the upper palate like the bolt my own words caused in the wake of their banishment     remember that I never wish to cause you regret if that can be avoided in the drone of distances crossed to let me touch your spine so that I might straighten out my own remember too that I love him even though I am sending you messages the shape of pellets troubadours once threw at windows in the dank hours of night before lighting up the air with their song     perhaps whatever words we are free to speak while they become dragons or zombies or humans can sunder us both but I believe that if the words are that strong we must heed them like portents we must follow them where they lead     me into your mouth or else into his you into some crevice while the city decides its season