Georgia

for J.

And in the afternoon, the hardness 

ascends from thighs.  And this is a time 

for telling what’s here amongst us four.

Within the growing and these ventricles that 

Surrender their girths to throats and tendencies--

I hold his cap to my mouth,

And my chin winces. 

Eyes wish this would last—this 

Don’t go.  Don’t go.  Repeating itself

Beneath the root of the tongue 

as if the syllables

Alone could manufacture time.

This is it, then:  the bone’s prayer.

Lungs, lungs.  

My face has his scent.