Standing in Line at the Post Office (12/11/00)


the story of blue

What hasn’t love made impossible?
The bones have gone out of my body,
flown away in the beaks of birds.
I am left filled with wax, melting.

We walked this bright beach into winter.
Look back and you’ll see,
it is too far to walk home.

I want to say:
my heart is broken today,
as though any stranger could escort me
back to a place where
the scent of lavender makes sense,
and the shapes of my fingernails are my own.

As it is, I spend my days
piling up our hands like starfish,
tracing your mouth,
where words dissolve,
bead by bead like a raspberry,
staining everything crimson.
As it is, I try to stay warm and
not get too much sand blown in my eyes.

I want to know
how I came to be alone
under this sand dollar moon.

Do you know how hard it…

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