Peeling an apple for Theo, I swipe
a red triangle from my knuckle.
My palsied left is clumsy, always
collateral. After filling forms
for the dissolution of our marriage,
Lili refuses to sleep
in the study with me and heads
to the bedroom. Morning comes and we’re still
married, as always: It’s the morning
of the neighborhood garage sale.
Theo intercepts a leaf skidding across Birch.
He presses it to his chest and the wind
pins it there like a butterfly. He stoops
to rubber tire shred of once
an earthworm, once upon a time, and hands
it to my unassuming hand
on Willow where a man sprays the forms
of a new driveway with diesel,
where the low sun lays out our shadows,
where we’re still married.