Walked. Cracked. Blur
of accident, this body 

a dog that won’t stay home,
you a mulberry bush

(round and round we go).
This body a map, longitudes

and lassitudes, this whole body
an unstrung harp, lost notes.

Thus begins the weather
unsettled, the heart as gate

banging on its latch, the heart 
as towel thrown in,

the heart as 3am.
Self-portrait as peeling wallpaper.

Self-portrait as unthreaded eye.
Self-portrait as beehive,

as buzzing, the promise of sweet
unmet, impending sting.
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