in line at the airport—
every one of us a son,
a daughter
*
at the same time
I take the antidote, I hold my hand
to the serpent’s mouth
*
in a room with six thousand butterflies,
impossible to be anywhere but in a room
with six thousand butterflies
*
tying one end of the noose
to my neck, throwing the other end
to the sky
*
not one word
worth writing—
this big, big ocean
*
having no single way to love you,
what a gift—I find
many ways
*
I am perhaps a wind
dreaming it is a woman
sitting very, very still
*
lying right
on top of you dreaming
I can’t find you
*
playing possum
does not work
unless you are a possum
*
laying my worries
out on the table—
the gulls devour them
*
that trap you set for me?
without springing it
I write a love poem on it
*
even though the waves
erase that line you drew,
I still know where it is
*
turning to look at you
I cry, attacked
by gratitude