chicksaw and rapture, a divine tuning of the senses, of taste, of hearing, of touch: all the things you cannot see, that she cannot see, that he cannot imagine. a wind howls through me, leaves my mouth gaping open until the lips stretch over the teeth and the tongue dries. unbelievable, like christ traveling across the world while his body rots in a cave. men dig my neighbor’s yard, they pull thick yellow cables under and through the ground raising the amperage, more pulses for the dead heart of this town. sitting beside me she says while fingering the splinters of the bench on our porch, did you ever expect this, did you ever dream? choking i reply, i stopped dreaming the minute he died.