I look into a bowl of white noise.
Ezekiel on a field of bones.
I dip in my hands. I drink death
from a skull's empty sockets.
The dust of it covers my hands.
I think now of that evening.
You shelled beans into a silver bowl.
You looked up at me. Your eyes
glistened with laughing or memory.
I have never known which.
I know I will bury you.
My hands will touch your eyelids.
I will stand above you
as I sift dirt on your grave.
I will wrap your name in mine.
Case Duckworth is a press operator living in Baton Rouge. He's been involved in the editorial process at the Sequoyah Review, Thin Air magazine, slashnburn magazine, and Kindred magazine. He is the founder and sole constant member of avant-garde art collective LOOSE POOPS. His favorite food is Frosted Mini Wheats with almond milk.