The Auspices

III Ex Tripudiis

It was the chicken heart, pulled

from the chest cavity, and set on a plate

that set me off eating. I dream still

of cake, Brussels sprouts shaved in broth—

the butter of peas mashed and salted. Awake,

I have no room for these things. My body swells

at the sight of omens: your red aura lights

my blood, your slick shadow sends my liver septic.

I am a heavy idol, tacked by gravity. I see you.