I’m on my own with my few clothes

and I may not belong here so far.

So far, I want the sea to be my lover—

your love is my nightlight.

Your love enters what used to be my life.

My spirit, clear and true,

bound for the unglory of nothing,

you’ve known an uncertain struggling hollow sound

called sorrow

in the whispering flight of the night bee.

She’s had to struggle, somber heart in water.

You could be in the dusk of the butterfly

you could be laughing at the sky

and becoming boils,

uncured boils.

If I could only see and be

the same as my mirror,

my aching feet,

my one rose

my one rose from lemons—

but each moment knows

its pockets of sorrow.

And in the mouths of choking strangers

 I was haunted by their chains

and stronger than I should have been

and in the blood of the broken bodies

running ticket by ticket, tunnel by tunnel

it’s a runaway life

like every rose flees into death

and I lay my body down

like the moth rests upon the chance

of the lantern half-dead.