At the end of her life,

the moon becomes

a blade, a jaw

of remember

red of rooms of

want you

I walk into a lake

of light looking

for (I can’t)

you, swelling siren

in the night’s throat

I must walk alone

along the edge

of a demon’s mind

bordered by a vein

of stars; show me

how not to love,

how to be a wife

to silence, how to dive

into the backward sea

and seclude myself

in a mirror; how long

can the cone of time

stretch reliving an error

how long the dawn

how long before the

too late light

dream with me, bell, water,

bell, I follow the white

cat to the crossroads:

where do I go, little

song? To the one who

calls you, the one you love