The Shrike’s Fresher Kill

 You threw something on the floor, 
 and I had to move in to take a closer look.
 It was a model of a ------   that I
 no longer know.
  
 Deep weary, without veils
 and a long time since 
 you relinquished judgment.  You left me
 alone yesterday to pledge fury 
 to the last olive tree.  
 Nothing protects me from
 the expression on these faceless mannequins—
 their arms dislodged by domestic thieves.
  
 To shed doubt, he left me
 in a whirlpool to weep 
 without release. I canceled
 my golden hair, and kept more
 of what the silence gives us.  
  
 Looking back, I should have noticed
 why there were no photos.
 Muscled up by wanderers and mystics,
 there are no more antics on tap.  And that’s fine with me, 
 but I’m still curious about the strangulation.