How to become two-dimensional

Die. You’re soon reduced to a photograph.
Lugubrious Co-op undertakers will zip you in a bag
and keep you cold . . .

atlas bear
black-footed ferret
cape lion

This morning – Blackstar,
Bowie, those jazz swan songs
sputtering from the CD player,
wild trumpets that convulse
through negative space

the pool holds my face
 
my breath
ripples the water

The single crimson rose
she wears in her lapel,
to test his imperfections,
draws him into detail

When the half-light drops below the horizon
the birth of darkness comes

My mother died seven years ago, but last night
she had a message for me. The mechanics
are irrelevant, what she gave stays with me

Girls under the tree,
one with hands clasped as in worship,
the others picking
the scarlet fallen seeds

What is the ancient curse they know that you don’t
Moving along their mouth-lines and their eyebrows
Lowering their lids, tensing their nods or shrugs