Hemlock

I make you a cup of
sweet tea.
Milky hemlocks wave in
my garden. 

A late autumnal afternoon settles on
my skin. 
Like a soft shroud on the carcass of a
child unborn. 
Mossy green fishes swim in
your eyes
from a summer whose shadows have
long withered. 

Each fish in your eye is 
a monster. 
They devour your stories
my memories
our regrets. 

I make another cup of 
sweet tea. 
We keep sitting in the late
autumnal afternoon. 

In you,
each fish drowns. 
In me, 
a new hemlock grove raises its head.