Resolutions and Desolations

Her grip sailed past the afternoon corn
Past the rain-trees and forest canopy
For the early mornings of June
We sweated in bed, atoning for our disgrace

God’s mask is not loved or foretold
She lives inside the cracks in the concrete
Wearing tailor-made smoke signals
With the subconscious signature as a hat
To cross Her pelvis is to be born in good health
Forever loved, like those sweaty beds in June