to die more quietly.
there were only two trees in eden but one of them was bad.
if i could learn everything i know
i wouldn’t.
driving on the beltway, you asked me
if i could still imagine a future.
a billboard advertised $200 vasectomies.
the next coalition of nationalists
will be just multiracial enough
to pass muster. and if not,
would the poem matter anyway.
our metadata suggested spiritual longing,
unspecified. i kept writing
only because i desired forgiveness.
we walked the length of the meadow,
all ash and mound, marveling
at the trunks of red cedar, stunted
in their growth by their burning.
in the distance, smoke-stippled,
turkey vultures spread their wings
to clean them by sun.
a child, racing towards us,
held his kite aloft.