Fear is what we have.

The fear before we meet, lips cross, the hopes our words

Are straighter than how

We are.

Is that all there is, the bird asked the flower? And

The flower did not answer, and could become

The structure of the dream because it cheated at

The stem of dreams. We live by waking. Our lives are struck

By blood, we move from spot to spot and from thought to

Feel.

“How could I,” I, I asked her, “not owe you any-

More,

Could I not give the worship of my feet,

Supplication of my though,

The blood of my voice,

To each passing breath?”

And she did not laugh, which saved my soul,

But would not bid me kneel.