Ars Poetica, Twenty Years Too Late
Consider what it was you wanted, wounds
that neither hurt nor scar, sex that’s neither
a beginning nor an end. You want earth
in your mouth, a collective breath, a syntax
both malleable and free. You want what
you cannot have. Out the window, a thud
of sun as the breeze shakes the seedpods,
but the seedpods won’t let go their hold.… Read the rest