Donna de la Perriére
For kari edwards

water with smudged sky
tumbles over spillage, you
flash, troubled, leaning cliffward

what is left but bodies spanning
out: an unexpected guest, a rocky
point in the distance:

you half a world away, riding
someone's motorcycle, you
on the porch at day's

close in hazy heat,
you across the water, while
all of us were sleeping,

a whistling, a hollow
sound, your lights
heading home,

you smudging our lost
halls, your decembered
air, your breathing,

all those people
in the kitchen peeling back
into themselves, then you

stepping out the window
onto water, ambulance,
nothing, you

blowing back into
us, ashing our mouths