Friends, remember that summer when we stayed
on that mountain full to bursting among empty graves



how we sat there frozen in sultriness
for one blue second, saved for later



and how the crickets spoke on behalf of the gods
ten thousand wings as if they were with us



and how things spiralled into themselves
deities and dead men splinters and eggshells



and how come it’s autumn and we’re still sitting there
although we’ve split to pieces somewhere else –