(click on the play button above & watch my short film doppelgänger)
blood ablution, frozen sharp,
in barbaric ice.
The sun sliced a cut
of cold light onto his face —
a bullet-dry hole.
A frozen wasteland
left behind, village to sea,
I, cold-blooded, stalk.
“Under, then, under the front porch, in the loam
of the burning and smoking land, the de-
foliated, under that pyre of bones, we scrabble,
and struggle together to hear ourselves think.”
— Elizabeth Alexander / “Notes From”