After Mark Strand
I fill my plate with rain. I fill my belly.
I fill a T-shirt with shells & count them on the floor of my cabin.
At night, I drink juice from a moon-colored mug.
I feed the lamp & wrap my hair in a scarf.

What good am I doing? The ocean whines from bed.
I take my pills. I bury watermelon seeds.
The pills & the seeds move past each other in the dark.
Who blesses them?

My regrets slither up from the porch. 
They swell like shreds of orange pulp in my mouth. 
It’s true that I love & that I do not love.
I fill myself with my regrets & begin to speak.
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