I cannot tell if the dayis ending, or the world, or ifthe secret of secrets is inside me again-Anna Akhmatova
Mitzy and I were doing alright, I thought.It turns out you can get used to most smells.We spent our mornings strolling throughgraveyards looking for trinkets for the house.We made love in complex positions that requiredlengths of rope and one-legged balance, ourshadows casting jagged and strange shapes oncandlelit walls. We ornamented our headboardwith drying flowers and tiny skulls. I hung windchimes made from rabbit bones at the front door.She loved the sound so much, she did all the guttingafter that. I enjoyed the feeling of washing the dishes,and she taught me the words “I take refuge in the body,I take refuge in the death, I take refuge in the song.”We ate a bloody soup of organs for three nights and forthree more she hopped and danced with wild eyesblowing an Aztec death whistle. She was ecstatic whenI lured a doe into the yard. She startedcalling me Bardo after that, which I likedthough I didn’t know what it meant. This morning Irubbed the sleep from my face and heard the sound of atiny bird outside, maybe a warbler. But it’s dead now.