(no subject)
5/19/05
your dark runs doe-swift and undoes the day.
i am an archer with a limping heart again,
taking aim. your dark's a folk song, its bones
a gray powder, its skin easy to slip.
i wear my mother's dress and shame,
tie bowstrings with apology. history
speaks low and lies a wind against my arrow.
by may i lie
exhausted with an empty quiver.