All I can do:  

snip threads from the skirt all night I have danced in

                                  Too far away

Cut then, a hole in the center of the lambskin chemise I wear over my chest and heart
not the shape of a heart understood
but the form of a heart that does not require understanding


Only what you do not need can you fully
have.  All I
can



do:

stay on this rug between.  Try to wear holes in it
to glimpse the woman I was before the one poet

told the other: this language will
fail.  And it does.  And
they are saved.