*
Over and over I keep hearing myself say
I am a song I am song
I am language and not language
The fracture inside myself is enduring
loyal and unconditional
Is this not love
my devil is the next moment
it hangs me with rope of blue sky
I am always swallowing a bat of light
and everything smells like silver inside dirt
when I introduce my children
to our separateness.
No matter how loving the delivery,
it breaks their tiny hearts.
If the heart is a succession of opening and closing, then the heart
sings.
mine is singing and weeping and choking
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