The one who loves you hears nothing
different as his arm cradles your spine,
ear cupped below the clavicle. In a chapel
in Montedulco, a small icon has been removed
for cleaning and repair and prayers continue,
wending their way like the six winds into God’s ear.
A pulled tooth in a closed mouth, the body’s own
dark closet, no one misses it, except God,
probing the gap with her tongue.