On the morning of the new Q train, we passed
a woman’s body slumped against a wall. 
White liquid poured from her mouth like snow, 
until the paramedics showed up, for which 
everyone was grateful. In my mind I was busy
riding a Palomino through a forest, solving 
an equation in air. My thoughts hard & soft, 
a terrain. All week I wanted to talk to you 
about this small sad thing, the woman’s purse 
at her side, hands trembling like my horse
at the stream while we looked & kept walking, 
these details, which make up a poem, a life, 
& could help you know me. All this time, 
I wanted you to understand the emptying in me, 
below the earth, where someone was singing.
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