I am letting my brain
fly free on the horizon:
a white bandana covers
a scar on the right side,
below the hairline; a tiny
crescent moon decorates
the left corner. The rest of me
is a shadow. A child's voice
cries: I am guilty. Please,
save me. I am neither
an angel nor a devil.
I'll allow you to drag me
through dirt, arrange yellow
flowers on my kitchen table,
poke fun at me.
There's a stone with eyes
and ears. For days
I collected all sorts,
compared them to traumas,
wasp bites and wisdom,
put them in a vase of sun.
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