Her halo ropes the night close to my hurt ribs
brings the starved light closer to the vessels of the face in gear
wraps tape around the knuckles that might have fought for her
but hit wall after wall toweling the clay while still wet
with gashes and gills I make my way down to meet her
like a minister of rain, a hermit exploding in laughter,
she douses a fossil with her hair it erupts into a lawn chair
and dispenses the currency of the day
freely in the haze of smoke and doctored water.