The thing I keep telling myself
is this: if nothing is linear then
there's a chance that the circle
of my life might exist within the
circle of yours, and it is the
shape of that thought that saves
me in the middle of the empty
His hands were large and leather-worn,
They pulled the saddle tight;
And though he did not seem forlorn,
His eyes were wet--I could have sworn--
As they flashed beneath the light.
It's a quarter after midnight, and the house is still,
When I hear something tapping at the windowsill.
Terrified, with open eyes, I climb out from my bed,
Pulling back the...
Like a butterfly beneath your pin
I am framed and placed amongst your things.
You are further than you've ever been;
You are pressure holding down my wings.
I close my eyes and see...