From here a skein, a solution:
harbinger of an opening
A little note from beyond, ie.,
the lost “family joke,” the long bridge
between moments of being
and their reverb
Should I not be supremely content
that a fire is built instead of made
made instead of male,
That in the pockets of this overcoat
I am female, a form of being bold but not bold
red in eyelet, repeating I am 27, I am 27
to the tea olive’s hidden smell
a sense of stalemate overhead
An obligation to make angles and lose
this animal body, to sing about
and value preparedness
like something we weave and erect a fort under
To deserve this realm of history
in no language
Never mind the shriek on the radio:
A hemorrhage subsiding
a long file of rain