Rats wake in your sleep

and mime the progress

of want. My voice turns back

to the hunger it gives birth to,

coupling with stones

that jut from red walls: the heart

gnaws, but cannot know

its plunder; the flayed tongue

rasps. We lie

in earth’s deepest marrow, and listen

to the breath of angels.

Our bones have been drained.

Wherever night has spoken,

unborn sons prowl the void

between stars.