I cannot write as well as you,
I cannot write.

There is a woman who lives next to my window.
She hangs her clothes between our buildings,
I know her dishtowels and bath towels.
I understand all the details.

I do not understand anything when you’re
on top. I am tired and pretending to not
be tired. I loved you in any position
but this one.

We’ve been here before: 
radiant love and rampant fear. 
It’s too hard with a heart that
lacks salt.

I will not speak as well as you,
I will not speak.

I take souvenirs. I get tattoos
and have them tell the stories: 
there was a bear that cured all histories
mountains I could finally call a home.

This woman, I do not know her but
I understand. She has a bird that’s
caged but still sings. I know because I
write the melodies and harmonies,

I have known wings before.


I held a gun once