Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.

I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.

I have been cut in two.

Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.