Because I was in love with my city,
I climbed high above it, and was small
in the eye of God. I went into the body of a coyote.
My throat was pulled up to the root
and the sky went in. It is no lie to say
I sang the world to death and back.
My nails grew long, I was famous.
Only the moon knew my stillness.
You could skip rocks off my spine.
I was in love with a man who carried
the scent of earth. He went out of my room
with a draft and returned when the tangerines
had ripened above my door. Every day
was a gift. All my songs tasted of copper.
I made promises and kept them, even
the lies. In a box, I kept them, lined with
abalone shell and iced with dust.
I was in a courtyard when I opened
that box, and the wind came through. Ruthless.
I walked on sky and never looked down.
There are different kinds of change. Only
some of them did I notice.
I was driven out of my home and woke
in strange places with memories not my own.
I vomited on tile and drew within it an omen.
My friend has died far over the water. How
will I bring myself to read his book?
I stood before the wreckage and it is a wonder
my ears didn’t bleed. I heard a song so clear
that all that’s left is a ringing. I can’t hear you.
Write it out, I can’t hear you.