What you read in these lines
is not you. A kestrel takes
a sparrow from the garden.
Neither of them is you.

The crudely carved bowl
on the pine shelf represents
nothing; not you, not the poet,
not the cruelty of love.

It is just a bowl on a shelf.
The tangled blackberry bush,
the arrogant crow, the dead
snake on the asphalt

have nothing to do with you,
your life, your pain. They
simply fell into the poet’s gaze
and migrated to the page.

They mean nothing, nothing
at all. They are not about you.

[Click the image to see credits & larger sizes at flickr.]