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Poem	I am alive -- I guess -- The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory -- And at my finger's end -- The Carmine -- tingles warm -- And if I hold a Glass Across my Mouth -- it blurs it -- Physician's -- proof of Breath -- I am alive -- because I am not in a Room -- The Parlor -- Commonly -- it is -- So Visitors may come -- And lean -- and view it sidewise -- And add "How cold -- it grew" -- And "Was it conscious -- when it stepped In Immortality?" I am alive -- because I do not own a House -- Entitled to myself -- precise -- And fitting no one else -- And marked my Girlhood's name -- So Visitors may know Which Door is mine -- and not
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