it starts with

a surge,


the intersect of

neck, solar plexus,


words — — then,

the dark descent


down, down into

the cave drawings


of who am i?





built for

slow idolatry


and waiting:

which is its


own electricity—




after all is


said and done;

after all the


battles fought—

few won;


what am i here for?







i thought i lost you:

on my own—


twist of lightning;

home alone.





a paradox of



first steps,

first stay,


first time

driving away;


the lonely light house

winks at the bay.


and we lay, we lay,

we lay down our dark


arms and rub up against

the furry light of day.





the view from in here:

the curves, colors, corners—


forming the anchorage of

you. the angled wood running


down hallways, dreaming of

being trees in a time before


scarcity. she didn’t want to grow,

to move, to change; she knew:


something is wrong. she crept into

the wall and fashioned herself in-


to a knot: good for the slaying.

from beyond she is still saying:


throw me a line. it continues

to feed our gibbous infamy.


i wake in the night to a

different realm; pulled from


my fuzzy yellow refuge. the

voices i meet are darker, thicker,


carrying something un-

speakably heavy across the


dimensions. every one i have

ever known—even my own


sisters, mother, father: sleeping

just feet from me—feel thousands


of memories away. i alone am

standing watch; am a crumbling wall


between what i thought i knew and the





i don’t know why they are

visiting upon me; but one thing


i do know as i crouch in the deep-

dark pockets of the hallway, shaking


and weeping and lost:      i am


of what could not

your whole body lied

to me, for years. and


now, my whole body

lies in the quiet, lies in


the darkness, lies at

dinner parties—especially


because it doesn’t go

to dinner parties: it


lies alone in the cool

blue din of the tele-


vision; thinking of the

sun on the lake, on the


rich red paint, of what

could not have been.