Solitude

And no one has been in this garden here No other footprints shaped by sleeping grass No one knows this place And I, in this dress, silk turban wrapped ---I have my fine cloth crown and sun No one knows the burn behind my eyes right before I write the round black shallow grave pressed against my chest No man has loved me none at all I have all these; the sun, the grass, and the leaves but it is only me here in this pretty and when solitude reminds us of tragedy I remember how blades of grass can cut the sun can burn and leaves make us slip I learn to put the lines in your hands on a throne the deep must of exasperation, the missing length on the frame of your body is better, I know My God, I'm jumping, dodging daggers I need to find home Rest my head in the places you've wept This is me knocking against the breadth of our separation I write no more in your memorial, but in mine I have only the swords of grass to pass the time