.

descended, they have
their careful white umbrellas and compassion-
ate black microphones and the rotunda shrouded
columns pressed like pins through the map: "here"

"violent," i hear between the crunch
of pebbles between cobblestones
his eyebrows are slanted in practiced
concern
the sun burns its way under his skin

i didn't mean to, he told them when they found him
alone, perhaps, crying, perhaps
crouching in the dark that wound its way around and around
the doorknob that turned until it drilled a hole
through her bedroom door but his leg
is scratched and there are splinters
and his face so recently boyish now sunk
into jawlines and hollows and black pools
spilling at the edges

i didn't mean to kill Love
i didn't mean to kill her.


--

in memory of yeardley love,
and all hearts broken by her passing






pray for george huguely, her murderer, that he will not be lost