God shrieks behind a canopy of wisteria,
there is blood in her mouth
and on the tips of her fingers.
The air smells of meat
and moist cement.
My heart completes each sentence
with an ellipsis.
I enter the garden,
a child ruined by expectations,
a child overlooked.
The trees are uninhabited,
their frail fingers flexed
toward a crescent moon.
The leaves cackle
beneath my boots
their veins thin as hair.
The sky is remade
by the passage of clouds overhead.
The devil is neither above nor below
I am hungry but the worms
have picked the flesh clean from all the fruit.
I sow the castoff seeds into my bones.