standing on a little ceremony near a little cemetery

With open arms? Cache of weapons to arrive on an onyx barge.
Like my hands retrofitted to play with a brain surgeon's hands.
I took you though you weren't with me to sit on a rock by the river.
You threw all the coins you carried in your pocket into the water.
We were standing on a little ceremony near a little cemetery though
You weren't with me. You took off your hat to salute every gravestone.
With bells & whistles? Stash of poisons transported by poor post.
Like a sifter employed in the hands of someone dreamily sifting.
I took you with me but you weren't with me as we went through the
Turnstiles in the underground tunnels. You turned to kiss me as
A door slid between us. My face was reflected on yours in blue glass.
With fanfare and feasting? Rations gone bad in some barrels.
Like your hands going through the motions of come-here-to-me.
I took you with me where you weren't going to a place by the river.

[Dara Wier, 'At Issue Were the Ways We Would Welcome Them', from You Good Thing]