Surrender

spoke on a Sunday, leaves
in the air and electric hum
of the pastor's guitar

alive in that buzz was promise
beyond sermons and faith,
character before bedside surrender

mermaid in her bathtub
siren in the shower, sex
on every surface if you count

prayers to herself in the mirror
and every shiny surface
parallel reflections of reality

you spoke that sunday, leaves
caught in her hair, thought of
laying her down but you never

chanced speaking up, good
thing too- she would have wrecked
you like every other shambled life

she has left behind her
whispers in the church pew
and a wake of yous, broken

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