A note in my Notes App reads:

“Love Poems from the End of the World”

 

Beneath it a blankness

like a pool drained of its water

 

Beneath that a list of ingredients

to make beef bourguignon

 

When things are tidy I love them

for the potential destruction I can bring

 

After the crash snapped the trailer’s latch

the highway turned into a river of horses

 

Children rolled down windows and touched

shivering flanks, swampy nostrils

 

No one had a thought for the air

balloonist dangling from her tilted basket

 

The trick with beef bourguignon is to not make it

and then languish in the possibility of making it

 

Both of us naked, you fold carefully the duvet

 

All the good stuff in a love poem

happens in the white spaces

 

Like when we

                                                            all night

 

We can always change

the sheets tomorrow

 

I’m so hungry I could eat

whatever’s breathing outside the window