No shouting
please
I toss the roots
into the pit
of winter
watching
how slowly our hands
tangle
in sheets and dreams
of migration
this little pill
in the center of the eye
listen:
there are intruders
everywhere
when you live outside
skin and bone
and memory of struggle
kicked – shouting
I can take it,
what else you got?
But there is no one around
3 a.m.
a cold park bench
and a prayer
just about to die out on your lips
I could have been a pretender,
I could have loved you
in a way that you would have found hard to believe,
imperfectly potent,
singular, single-handedly.
Unafraid.