a curse

burn ibis feathers
the tongues of starlings
wash down with soured vinegar,
wet ashes.
help me to salt the earth,
[side by side beneath a bruising sky,
we will spill salt, sow sorrow—
touch my rimed hands,
say, you have swallowed the sea]
dig this grave with me, again and again,
until i am satisfied. then
shoot me.
fill the grave we dug together
with my body, the
broken wings of larks.

wander on alone, hands full of salt.