Modern Romance

Said what is customary.

What rations were left got rationed.

What perished I dumped

at the campground where the foxes divvied salt

jerky mannered and

stalking all night, dead reckoning

the forest, furrow

by ridge by radio parts, swift remnants

we make of staving.

Have made. And having made, stow elsewhere,

anywhere else, like

embarrassed in the granary, the heft of

your dry mouth, this

drought of us that pitched the tent. Said

goodnight, splint of

river going broke. There is only so much

tending to do and

then what. Sleep won’t come. The parts

of me that are on

fire can’t put the parts of you that are on fire out.