WATERMARK

#14

linger
langorous
laughter  the
language  of
love

#15

Fragments

First they took the tonsils;
then the appendix; the gall
bladder; the womb. Scraped
cartilege from bone. The voice,
the guts, the crooked toe.

The tooth that would not fall
in line. In dreams I stumble
on truncated limbs. I am
incomplete, badly mended.
What will be taken next?

#16

In this group of women
nothing is what it seems.
I do not fit in. They are
nice, they lie to each
other. Nothing seems
familiar. Perhaps

it is an advantage to have
amnesia? This becomes
more cage than refuge.
I needn’t keep seeking
in the wrong places. How
high this bed is, lifting me

up to see the morning
mountains, April snow.

#17

Morning bangs into my bedroom
with wind & sun & noise, bringing
another day, & what shall I do
with this one? A brief walk
in this cold spring fury; an attack
of loneliness; a preoccupation
with wings.