leave behind all the beloved things

A woman is a flower is a woman is a flower.

Lily rises from the concrete to rest on the corner of crumbling wall.

And a woman crouched there waiting

She holds her hand to her face

She holds herself in shadow

What she has buried there rises

Even in this dark place


A woman is a flower

Within the frame, the flower is as tall as the woman and as tough-skinned

Who is she and is she me

A freckle on her shoulder

Dark lines on the ground like something has been dragged there

Not a flower

The white lily is not white

The woman is not me

The open field of her face or flower

The open field of her body or of concrete

Woman crouched naked as if in a dream

As if in a dream the lily rising from the cracked earth


Watch the patch of light move across the afternoon

Watch the woman disappear from the frame

Here is how she stands at the stove and boils water for tea

Here is how she sheds herself, walks the long city blocks at night

Moves like shadows

Downcast eyes

It is not always love that makes us do these things it is not

always love


What stains the ground

Pay attention to the ground

Pay attention to the shadows

A chill descends

One way to go is as good as any other

She is dreaming of another place and I am dreaming too

Leave behind all the beloved things – eel skin, notebooks, pair of feathered wings

The city streets are long at night and dark