Peter's Crystals—13
upstairs in Buffalo, we sat opposite, alike as ax handles
he᾿s donated his body to science, he informs
gracile feet sensitive, blue colon
so as not to burden to bother which
bothers me from the start

to down the body
when like a dog the spirit
shoots across at a whistle
—a giving that gives matter more weight or less?

out here in Arizona
the shore of Mexico᾿s mountains out there
beneath physical clouds
a stranger to everyone, everyone a stranger to me
I am consoled by the familiarity of my own body

if he hangs his body like a coat on a hook in a hallway
what will be familiar to him on that after-shore?
without that tag-along hologram, what will console Peter᾿s soul?

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