“Find your center. Stay there.” But I am the point in the dart Aiming for the bulls- eye And missing more often than not. Land on 13, 1, 3- you know, odd numbers. If I could find the center, The tender middle, I would perhaps be devoured. William, you told me to stay honest, And then left For another pasture. What can I do, but keep wandering, Keep following the bees For something sweeter?
Cigarettes in the snow Outside the Rehab house. There was something familiar About the addicts faces- A haunted, starved look As though they just emerged from a long, arduous war. Their skin had not seen the sun for awhile. Did they even remember childhood, How it felt before the hunt began? To wake up without hunger, To see a landscape that didn’t include Nooses hanging from the trees?
This communion of music And water sought you. You walked into the Wolf River Fully clothed, Singing a familiar song, Moving toward an unfamiliar place. You floated on your back, Like Ophelia, arms Stretched out like a dark snow angel. Forever after The river would be blue And wanting.
I am a girl of indecision. I dreamed a few nights ago That I was picking out wings from a catalog- There were too many to decide on, So I passed on all of them. How many flowers and bees Does it take to make A pound of honey? How many sorrows can the heart endure Before it is slaughtered Completely?