Diagnosis

 by Megan Merchant

This body is codependent with tenderness.

I will wear only soft grey fabrics—

a cliffhanger to mourning.

The morning unscrolls an agenda of rain

and blur ahead. A reminder that there is a before,

but only in the after.

From here, I can see my neighbour rise for coffee

in the slit of light between trees. Animal body.

Vellum. Almost a dance. We are alive,

which means we are both awaiting results.

Tell me, do the ravens hold their breath as they

dive and arrow? My love grasps my hand

for the slightest second. A chipped dish of a moment,

too soon scraped clean.