After various vagrant nights,
Light comes down the well.
And I sort, plume by plume,
The destiny of them all.
Some go in my pockets
Others, in my chest and sex;
But nothing leaks.
Humanity and sin are kept in
with the help of wood and pines,
Tar kilns and human minds.
And somehow all this feels far behind,
A memory hard to find.
The water is wide
Enough to birth me up
And out. I’m no more your mother
Than I am my own.
Knowing that is dreg and dew both,
Bald elegy that traipses from time to time.
It’s not your fault nor is it mine,
That the thing that killed me most
Now anoints me while
Nothing will change as long as I remain.