[ATC]

I salvage the moss, she gathers the stone.

I stole a drop of gin the way windblown trees do. Unhurried,
Unsettling the dust that gathers at the pit
of a stomach sobered up and linger
free upon every waking thought. I am reminded of China,
some faraway film you inhabit under a crowded noon that breaks
a few hours too early for wine. Let every drop burn
your insides, that soothing machine you've come to call
your own.

I dowsed my hunger with penance the way I've seen monks, resolute,
purge their shallows with thoughts of love -
Every heave a tender kiss, every hurt two loving arms beside.
I am reminded of China, some faraway film
you inhabit with thoughts of your own, grown alone
in rice-fields ankle deep and reeking of regret, the planting
of the seed, that soothing machine you've come to call
your own.

And light-years away, the wind picks its way through
grass, wavering at every step. If my words
ever come to you from the sound of the rain,
you know I'll have loved you less.