Knar Gavin Mouths of Grain A samaritan? Just a person from a particular place. I too have come from a particular place. Have tried to be good when I pass you on the road, your mouth a tear across our pool of flesh, tiniest country. I might swear – I’d like to – we set the sun, bone-illumed, & cast it all river, my tear-maw to yours, flowing through the gape. Prophecies from Salt Lake Eyes toward that elsewhere and wiser now I sit beneath a broad spread of filtered light. Is this the bright, bright alone? I imagine an array of pines between what you did and what you might have. They sent a fleet of officers into the canyon, hot on the trail of girl blood. As if you might have killed. As if you ought to have. They found neither ponytail nor hoof. Later, the head officer was relieved of his duties, Bible-hog wild and having done it to himself. Still, the apparatus prays beside your grave: let there be a dead girl.