This is an erasure from Doritt Carroll's collection, Glttl Stp, from Brickhouse Books.
If there were two birds singing in two trees,
it would be the moment when they both paused--
not to take in air--but because it was the right
place in both their songs to pause.
And you, glass that you were, looked no different empty
than you had, full, as the sun looks down
with its one eye, lizard and blinkless. Everybody dies
the same, boning up like skeletons, stinking
like toilets. Morning comes fast. We're planted
like bulbs. You can't uneat the apple. But there are days
my heart is truly riven with the urge to take a stick
and get it given. I don't understand. I want to know.
We don't need the real thing sometimes. We just need
to think we've seen it.