---

directly under the shower head, 
water perfect temp. i imagine
dying is your brother in semi-dark

silhouetted, watching
deer from the dining room.
imagine dying: a mountain range 

of salt filling mouths all
wide & humble. if only
living things die then dying 

is part of life; wisdom neglecting
a sense of home, historic lodes
returned to (for context). wisdom

is absent in a body neglected 
but if survival is merely glimpsing
the summit then to say i am

not you, little thrush, is redundant. 
what do you know yourself 
by, during the secret hours? 

what white sky, what stones
make love to your windows only
to be thrown right back. morning

is silence in the house of women
-no-longer-women & anger 
perfected body realness 

for a species so totally
busted no gallon of pathos nor
gorgeous quality accrued (with interest) 

can save us. 

---

J. Freeborn is a teacher and the anthology books managing editor at the Poetry Society of New York. They have recent work in Dream Pop, Tiger Moth Review, Impossible Task, and elsewhere.