I will never forget you. Your nakedness
haunts me in the dawn when I can not distinguish your
flushed brown skin from the burning horizon, or my hands.
The smell of chaos lingers in the clothes
you left behind. I hold you
— Joy Harjo, from “Songs from the House of Death, or How to Make It Through to the End of a Relationship,” The American Poetry Review (vol. 28, no. 3, May/June 1999)