Sheath, Erosion

It’s not as if it ever goes away,
as if it dissolves; the granules

are insoluble particles, two selves impacting
each other, irreversibly. What wavers between:

love, a choice I make each day. What has been,
settling residue sifting out to sea. Betrayal

of a husband—stone, palm, riverbed. Everything
else is illusion, everything else glints,

flashes, a vapor blown through.
When the cardinal chimes Morning

come back and the moon glows orange
as large as the sky, we run through

the fog. If he will stay, let me
know something. What is marriage? On the cusp

of fever, I ask myself. Tonight
I sat outside on the front porch, a swarm

of dragonflies darting past,
buzzing themselves against

my cheek then my leg, what
they needed unrevealed to me.
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