ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
I WRITE
to tell you how
the loss of your
struck me hard amid my smiles
my blowing kisses to the world
the loss of your
used up my remedies
the usual consolations
are sharp beaks pecking
pecking my most tender
the hills become shadows
my mind moves off among them
my soul left alone refuses thought
those who could help me to
drink to your
are here and there about the world
not gathered nor looking to attend
my hands raised the glass in them
it's no good
my feet are numb
eyes refuse to blink
hair keeps growing
I have spilled
and keep spilling