Of Not Having

Someone left a scarf on the floor of a forest

at the end of May. Someone left a blanket

under a tree, hoping. Some bird will pass,

probably, through the rib of pine. I imagine

 

a heart kept warm, regardless. Of not having,

someone wandered. Of not wanting, someone

gathered all her strength and screamed.

For what it’s worth I heard you, followed

 

strings and knots through until

I found you. Soiled but weightless,

now the song can begin. Now is does,

did. You tell them I am here.

 

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