The past of having makes the present
Bleed and then we’re asked to
Forget it like imagined slights

I have to tell my mother the night

is a house in which are no knives.
The heavens grow hell blue

How distant
this hard bright terrain
that separates us

Nobody blamed her. When a god comes down
What can a poor girl do—for who can block 
His will? She never had a chance to think 

Another night of lunacy!
Another full and drunken moon
And I the dwarf and she the bear

The red barn. The Vermont farm
you ran away from to the city
or vowed you'd retire to some day.

What is there
for my gloomy father
to get so worked up about,

Hath stored from the beginning
the spies and counter-worlds
within the foot, at the instep's

Do you mean that
my gaze is not a look
and my clothes decide

A courtier strides along, his feathers
straightening in the breeze. His boon
has been denied. From his clenched left