They might
use words
that empty
out of stark boxes,
their mouths
keeping damp corners
hidden by calling me sweet,
but
I hear miniscule tumors
in the table paper
rustling.
At sonogram
the news-ink
is already wet.
In biopsy
their tone
is a
long
deep
bell
furling off tongues,
soon to cross
telephone
wires.
The white speck on
the film we
watch together,
an uncracked egg.
