Testament: last lines

for all those I have plundered (nothing I have is mine to give away)

I can’t decipher my stale devotion it’s made up entirely of curse words no condoms for the heart will save you daily from three dozen blessings pale orange branches, pale blue sky there are always more the mother’s slim hands vanishing into blurred velvet her compound bird-span wings disguised as eyes in twilight, curves as hard as nutshells and beyond, the bright flying splinters of the stars they shower onto the earth to house its want elusive green whorl and I hid it like a mutant twin unraveling the dark seam of winter notch between hills I am as empty as the mourning dove calling today – whoo-ah-ooo-ooo-ah