FOR SHANE I won’t deny it any longer: the man I love is a horse galloping through my chest. Only in thunder may I whisper his name. * I tell his mother I am the sort of man she will never have to think about. Shame—face of mulch, mouth of black snow. * In another story, the body was a bloodless moon and it was caught by trees. Dying—moon inhabits like an animal. * Someday there will be a night in which a boy survives falling like light across skin. Memory—small pocketknife tossed into ravine. * I do not believe the world keeps us rooted in its forest. He moves through my body like a god. * By crux of dawn I retreat every mile it takes to let him live inside of me. Him—my bloodless moon, my swollen bed of stones.