I tear down all the mirrors in my old house
               & bury the glass in the backyard: an offering,

or confession by another name. Dig up mounds
               of ancient daggers & ask for my face back. The gods

in the attic, smoking & drinking tea in circles, listen
               only long enough to laugh at my presumption.

In another universe I uncurl my tongue, give
               back their sound, banish their haunting

from the dreams of softer creatures. In
               another universe I peel the night sky back

like a wound & dress it in my own clothes. Fold
               its soft dark over the shoulders of children who, set adrift,

have unlearned their homes. Here, the only breaking
               that concerns us is the ice splitting over frozen ponds

when the birds return northward. & ghost
               is only the name we give to any temporary pain.

Meanwhile, in this universe: the sky full of familiar bodies
               in the shape of monsters; monsters in the shape

of memory. Meanwhile I am beholden to
               the young girl clutching a pocketknife &

wearing someone else's skin, saying yes,
               I want this winter inside me. Meanwhile I taste

the blood in my mouth & unremember its name. I get up
               & lie down next to my body. On the radio, a stranger

teaches us how to make the proper shapes of forgiveness.
               He does not tell us how it burns the tongue. Meanwhile

in this universe, the night witnesses
               a child made into algal bloom

along familiar shores &
               in its inevitable receding

quietly swallows him
               into light.