Hour Between Dog & Wolf
Before the only unbroken mirror, cobalt kimono
undone, embroidered sea at my feet: I’m the self-portrait of my father.
Eyes deep as ravines, night-lined ribcage,
even the rage is his,
this dusk between both of me.
In a hour colored tourmaline, I mistake your guitar
for a body in sleep and smash you into effigy,
splinter your way back into my skin.
With silk-wrapped fists, I shadowbox your incessant reflection
and break myself back open.