Undetectable 
soundless, it crosses a line, quiets into a seed 
& then whatever makes a seed. almost like gone 
but not gone. the air kept its shape. not antimatter 
but the memory of matter. or of it mattering. it doesn’t 
cross my mind now that it whispers so soft it’s almost 
silence. but it’s not. someone dragged the screaming boy 
so deep into the woods he sounds like the trees now. 
gone enough. almost never here. daily, swallowed 
within a certain window, a pale-green trail on the tongue 
the pale-green pill makes before it’s divvied among 
the ghettos of blood, dissolves & absolves 
my scarlet brand. ritual & proof. surely science 
& witchcraft have the same face. my mother 
praises god for this & surely it is his face too. 
regimen, you are my miracle. this swallowing 
my muscular cult. i am not faithful to much. 
i am less a genius of worship than i let on. 
but the pill, emerald dialect singing the malady 
away. not away. far enough. for now. 
i am the most important species in my body. 
but one dead boy makes the whole forest 
a grave. & he’s in there, in me, in the middle 
of all that green. you probably thought 
he was fruit. 

 
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