for I have known those dark eyes, know them all--
when they refuse to see me I resort to geography
the penitent lost in the landscape, the slight silhouette
of the artist inserted among the trees:
heartland, I breathe your sunset, exhale your night.
the pylons along the shore, barely visible in storm,
are my haunt in the pink calm of dawns.
to feel safe along the waters edge, because I am not safe on land:
who could wrest me from your gaze? from the crawling
sniveling whining of your lust? only here
I am a gull, I am alight in the blank space of my own heart.
the winds will whip me low and long, the crests and my wings
a blur of cold wet.
a magic in the meeting
of your graceless expectations: I am hungry too,
and I will feed you from my hoarding up of blood.
alone in the fields, stalks higher than I, and the
gainless fruits of wandering: a tall flat sky to hem me in,
a dark brown bed for making. I dig a pot, a bowl,
a hole for the remnants of my flesh.
seen, I am carrion among the crows, dissected
and refracted in a thousand beady eyes.
I hear your discontent, and am afraid.
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