By the time the windows and multiplying leaves open
           the sun mirror-gold. She sends the letter

takes a bite from a Cosmic Crisp    

surer of consequence and a bite less his
on-again-off-again.

           She was her mother and hers
          when she wanted to pinch the moth between her fingers.

Were it not for her friend who held the lamp to the moth’s wings—
            their intricate and opalescence a ladder.

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Each rung. Each bite of the apple she is unsecreted.

She disposes of the pressed rose. The long stem
claimed the vase and symbolled his broken promise.

What blows out of stacks and pollutes every woman’s sky.
O forgetful. Forgetful became his habit, meaning his bad faith.

In the dream, she walks across coals with her initiating feet.
No longer performing silence.

Waking with the six-a.m. garbage pick-up
an orchard of sensing, an escapee from a limited country, she is

chaosmos and vatic. Hear her
phonic revolts making words fly.

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