I am back at the restaurant where the mirror shattered.
Take me to the sanctuary that you made in me.
I am made in the image of a light switch, an orange rind, a gas can.
I can hardly sleep for fear of dreams. Lord don’t make another fool of me.
I am standing at the fence, watching the horse twitch his ear at a fly.
My window creaks in this new cabin, as if someone is listening to me think.
What if I grow old in a city sinking into the ocean?
Work more often, speak in a flat voice, do not blush, forget the boat.
I am back at the mountain where I got my belly button pierced on the bathroom floor after summer camp.
Blood stretches memory into a feeling.
Do not wish you were anywhere else.
What if there is no hard place, and the fire turns sand into glass?
It is quiet as the locusts, and the wind, no rubber teeth on shale tonight.
In the city, down the mountain, in the city.