Dan Sicoli

he doesn’t believe in amputation

he’ll carry it all stubbornly on his back as if a necessity
he doesn't believe in what burned in them hills
there’s no evidence his five senses can detect
he will remain here in the slight uneven rays of a simmering sun

he doesn't believe how strong a young wife can be
she is brutal with a garden hose
clever with ice cubes
flushed if she feels hoodwinked
and he’ll dote on her as if she were melting

he doesn't believe in architects
builds everything from memory
and he’ll mend the worn and damaged
with his limited tool kit
a blow torch, electrical tape and soldering iron

he doesn't bemoan what's rumored in those hills
and doesn't respect boundaries
a fence simply is witness to the invisible

he could dance around a charred pit
he could stagger and cough
he could burst into a waterfall
when his own skin turns crepe

he has no use for drugstore balms
or the soaking rains
if it doesn’t burn
it has no worth
in a sky filled with amputees

his smile ignites
the battered and rickety pick-up
kicking up dust and exhaust as he
drives miles in his driveway

she’s learned to accept the revving
without fanfare or complaint
believing all smiles become undone
during their brief spark of luminance