Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.

O starry night, This is how I want to die

... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.

Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

If I could blame it on all the mothers and fathers of the world, they of the lessons, the pellets of power, they of the love surrounding you like batter ... Blame it on God perhaps? He of the first opening that pushed us all into our first mistakes? No, I'll blame it on Man For Man is God and man is eating the earth up like a candy bar and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean for it is known he will gulp it all down. The stars (possibly) are safe. At least for the moment. The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.

Somebody who should have been born is gone.