White to the world's rim, and the ship held fast A sledge, a ruin of a man Pulled from the floe with frostbit hands Still pointing north. Still pointing on You want my name — my name is ash You want my tale — then moor your soul I chased a shadow to this white And the shadow dug this hole Where the ice took hold, I ended Where the fire took hold, I began Hear it all before I'm frozen: What I made, and what I ran Somewhere out beyond the lanterns Something watches through the snow It has walked me down for years now It will finish what I owe

I stopped asking what a body is And started asking why it stops Midnight in the borrowed rooms Candles burned to blackened drops Where the others saw an ending I saw hinges on a door Life is only architecture — And I'd read the builder's law The anatomy of God Spelled in sinew, spelled in cold Give me one forbidden letter And I'll write it thousandfold Letters on the desk unopened Geneva's summer, someone's care — Later. Later. When it's finished. Every love can wait a year The anatomy of God One spark short of being read Sleep is for the men of limits I keep house among the dead

November, one in the morning The rain against the pane The instruments of life around me Lightning in the vein And the spark — and the spark — It opened its eyes Dull yellow, and wet with birth It opened its eyes — And beauty died on earth I had chosen every feature I had dreamed him like a psalm And the dream stood up and breathed at me And reached a newborn palm Out the door, down every stairwell Through the rain, and did not turn The first thing that it learned of men: We leave. That's what we burn

The Creature — first words Fire... warm. The... bread. The... voices Wall between. I watch. I learn Old man plays — the wood that sings The young ones laugh — return I stole their words like firewood One winter, plank by plank Father. Sister. Sorrow. Kindness. I knew whom to thank Lessons through the wall A family through a seam I swept their snow, I stacked their wood The good ghost of their dream And in their books I found my question Written plain in borrowed light: Adam had his maker's blessing — What was I, born of the night? Maybe when I speak, they'll see me Not the face — the learned word Maybe blindness will be kindness Maybe I will be heard

The pool had frozen level And I knelt to drink the sky And a thing looked up — misshapen — And the thing, of course, was I But the old man's eyes are ashes His world is voice and flame If I speak before they see me He might love me all the same Hear me, father — I am gentle I have watched you through the wall I ask only what the dog gets: A floor, a fire, a call Boots and screaming in the doorway Sticks across my back like rain The word I learned for it was "family" I unlearned it in the pain

A boy alone below the branches Bright and small and unafraid Till he named the name that made me And the name became a blade Rage, I learned, is also language And it speaks with dreadful ease The portrait in my fingers A locket warm with theft I slid it in a sleeping pocket — Let them hunt what mercy left Victor — the courtroom I sat among the gallery I knew. God help me — knew Her answers plain as morning Her hands too small, too true And I said nothing Weighed my name against her breath Two were murdered by my creature — One by my silence. Both to death

Victor On the sea of ice it found me Where the crevasse eats the light Fast as falcons over frost-cracks — My abortion. My blight The Creature Do your duty first toward me, Then curse the thing you built I was benevolent — misery Distilled me down to guilt The Creature Everywhere I turned, a door was shut Victor You murdered — The Creature I learned it from the world you love Make me an equal One face that will not flee from mine Give her my ruin for a mirror And we are gone for all of time Victor If I refuse — you'll walk beside my wedding If I comply — I sin twice into the black The devil of it is: your logic's clean. Come to my table. Turn your back Make me an equal Or unmake what you began You gave me life without a blessing — Finish, or fear, the work of man

Island wind against the shutters Second flesh upon the bench Half a promise, half a horror And my hands won't stop. They clench What if she despises him? What if she wills? What if they breed? A race of them to curse my curse — Their Eden, my misdeed The moon. The glass. The face It watched me build its wife Unmade — joint from joint, undone Unmade — the promise with the flesh He watched me through the window Tear tomorrow off the bench The Creature So. You may rest, then, maker. Sleep well behind your locks. Remember only this, and count the seasons: I will be with you on your wedding night

Pistols primed along the hallway Every shadow drawn and checked It is me he wants — I'm certain I stand guard on my own neck The inn gone quiet as a held breath The lake as flat as glass Go and rest, love — I'll come after I let her pass. I let her pass The grammar of his promise Parsed against a bedroom door A bride was owed. A bride was taken. Equal. Equal. Nothing more The Creature — from across the lake Now you know the width of absence. Build with that.

The chase — Victor Sledge tracks north of every nation Meat left mocking in the snow Follow, maker — words scratched glinting On the bark: not far to go The Creature I fed his fire through the winter I let my hunter keep my track Hate was all we had of family And I could not give it back Victor — the confession ends Sailor — if he comes — my labor... Finish... or forgive... the plan... I dreamed of being more than nature And died the smallest kind of man The Creature — the mourning Here lies the god that fled the garden The hands that built and would not hold He suffered too — I know. I watched it. His guilt at least kept both of us less cold You who found him — mark the wretch that mourns him: I was made of death, and learned to live No spark will ever owe me answers No grave has anything to give The pole is white and asks no questions The pyre will be my only bed Where the ice takes hold, I'll end — The last of what he made. Unmade. Unread