inspection

we scoured the moon for pumpkins.
you with a shovel in your hand 
& me with a towel over my head.
in the dark of the attic all the ghosts
were wearing leather shoes. they asked
for shinings so we got down & kneeled.
genuflected. it has been a long time
since i was inside of a whale. still, i know
i am a canopic jar. i am where 
the spoonful goes. you were always asking
where we could hide the body
to your iphone who would dutifully 
list the nearby swamps & ditches.
one day the question will mean 
something else. i carry a dead deer 
into a masoleum. the deer has eyes 
made of gum drops. we are all prone
to looking too closely & not close enough.
sometimes i stare at my name so long
i see my old one. then, i see yours.
the alphabet is a trick. a series of portals.
you tell me i have too many eels in my blood.
i know this is true. i think you have
a fox you feed pieces of your heart to.
it's never worth accusing a lover
either they will come to you or they will
steal the fig tree in the middle of the night
when it is full of fruit. once, you showed me
a diagram of my bedroom complete
with all the trap doors i never told you about.
you said, "you passed inspection."
i did not ask, "inspection for what?"
it is less about what & more about who.
there is a parking lot with our names on it.
the seagulls there are laughing about
how we never found the pumpkins
& they were right there. beneath the skin
or beneath the floorboards. growing like
languages yet to be spoken.