The Renunciation of Mephista

She dances like a bomb abroad.

                        –Emily Dickinson

In the end, I wipe

the letters from your temple

and life spells

death.  You sink back

to silt and mangrove.

I might give you up

for a nun, resuscitate

my man.  

(I would love you

but you are too

like me.)

For now, sew

this note to your sleeve

so you know

the way home.

You’ve taken root

like a word, my stray.

Tell me: does imagination

begin in jealousy?

I want to make every-

thing not me

mine.  Miss Metaphor,

my mute, mutt,

mutter.