The Skulker

Betrayal has seven layers, five of them destiny

sandwiched between black and white.

A card arrived with the bouquet,

in the back room on your bed.

The signal was busy the day at the beach.

One hundred and forty vignettes,

doesn’t matter what happened next or who held the camera.

In Adlieh I kept a key tied to my thumb

when you first met in long glances.

A falling star over my right shoulder

as you dropped the last vestige of your humanity.

She slid on the stretcher as we headed south

between love and the last meal.

That year the tomatoes volunteered and grapes returned

when beauty turned its hard back on memory.

I noted that it was a rudder not an axle

as defeat sculpted a new side between breezes

where we sat on the banks of Patagonia

waiting our turn.