I Cannot Walk An Inch / Without

I Lay There Silently, Hoarding My Small Dignity. I Did Not Ask About The Gate Or The Closet. I Did Not Question The Bedtime Ritual Where, On The Cold Bathroom Tiles, I Was Spread Out Daily And Examined For Flaws. I Did Not Know That My Bones, Those Solids, Those Pieces Of Sculpture Would Not Splinter.

I'm The Crazy One Who Thinks That Words Reach People.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

I Said, The Poets Are There I Hear Them Singing And Lying Around Their Round Table And Around Me Still.

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.