Winesong

my body has been thickening itself
as a root against famine
neatly watered and split into compartments
this, thorax, here, abdomen.

all night I have been watching a spider
trace gently from wall to wall a thread.
I have been dusting.

Sweetness, I am no longer able
to take your hand and reassure you,
this wine is drowning my guts, this song
stuck in my head, I am rutted and unfortunate
as a tune whistled duskwards in some
lonesome field of wheat.