The shape of your body.
Wearing it is your task.
Risks include words rusting like leashes.
You thought memories made invincible.
Beautiful memories, of course.
It’s not the last time you’ll be this wrong.
Not the first-time angels declined.
To RSVP your sadness.
Strange, will be the sound you make.
Drinking water from a bowl.
Stranger, still, the feel of fur.
Warming frigid dreams.
Unfamiliar with a room that no longer barks.
There’s nothing to say when morning comes.
Her golden noose around your neck.
A mercy bestowed upon those who held.
A gladiator’s heart in pieces.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His work is forthcoming in I-70 Review, Tar River Poetry Journal, Sierra Nevada Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, Bryant Literary Review andThe Museum of Americana. His book, Waxing the Dents, is from Brick Road Poetry Press.