She said: My family used to laugh at him
but now he repairs their things.
Imagine if he wrote poetry
how the words would cohese.
She had spread over her
body a concoction of his devising and
she smelled of leather and damp spring.
He’d cooked her a midnight meal
and the skin she chewed
was crisped and brown.
She’d known he was for her
when she saw him at the flea market
buying something broken and smiling
as he held it tight to his chest.
I said I wish my mind was like his
and she said your mind is just fine.