why prefer?
the piñata before the strike
or just after
*
mud puddle
only the moon
doesn’t jump in
*
though tattered
I clutch at them, these shreds
of who I was
*
knitting the last row
I consider unraveling
the whole scarf
*
the sun takes me
by the hand—the mountain
can’t be tall enough
*
not the song
that made us look up but
the sound of wings