Terracotta

to know what it means
when I find your bones
in another's jaw.

when excuses are frequent flyers,
dimly lit with muted nods,
lazing softly into expectation.

to know what it means
when I search for bearings
along the slatted wood walls
        and find instead,

memories in
        a clotted rope
        poignant as the milk-white bottom of your tea cup
        
        a faded amazing grace-
                              notes like pinching, tinny flies
                              that circle and pulse until
                              the light goes
        -and they must pixillate and scatter.

to know what it means
when I taste earl grey
at the base of my throat,
steadfast and perpetual as
the hidden statuette
        
my forgotten warrior

that your mother found
   ever at attention
upon your desk.