In tempered scales, the same pitch
assumes a double life depending
on where it’s found, like C-sharp (D-flat )

or G-sharp (A-flat)—flats flawed
with lowered hopes, and sharps
implying the opposite, like love,

where a kiss is still a kiss,
but planted on an (un)gloved hand,
or the nape of an (un)exposed neck,

its meaning morphs, like words
that sound the same, but don’t
look it—twins like bare (bear)

or pray (prey) or dye (die)—and words
like cleave (cleave) that sound
and look the same, only one of which

you’d prefer your lover do to you,
or your name whose meaning is altered
when whispered or screamed by said lover,

or even death, where the same word
applies to a supergiant’s demise
or a bagworm consumed alive

from the inside out by parasitic wasps
saving brain and heart for dessert,
or to a shepherd, hit in the head

with a stone by his brother—
first human to turn into worm feed—
a permanent stain on the earth.