A Carolina spider lily hafts
through rock upon shale and water.
The garbulb shreds into blades
of infant cartilage when wind
tots back the stem,
dunks the lump upstream
to click on stone.
Love can only lose in this place.
Cecil tows Melba by cardigan to where
granite crops deepest,
lets go of her armless sleeves that
shimmer on current,
ghost oars in oarlocks.
Down she flows through county
farms, into the land's sunwhite memory.
He never hems back the bank,
leases land to summer floods.
His head loses the line stitching
day to calendar day.
In the shower he crumples on
tiles locked into grid,
skull full of water.
Mildew slashes caulk seams,
angles up the wall until
spore overflows, blots over plates,
scrim on old bone.