psalms                                     Kim Goransson & Peter Schwartz


we chewed trunks of whale-bones

for her marriage

primrose for a needle

in the pond,

dirty butterfingers

forced our chaplets

fresco and quince since

that first bite of

moth-eaten spring,

the widow's body draped

over stumps of time,

all wombs and trumpets

fated to verbs as big

as Gods.