Often I wonder at my
Own desire for destruction
That sibilant, sensual whisper
I want to die, all lilac-edged
Like my need to self-destruct
Is a field of foxgloves in the spring
When I have spent a winter
Starving
Why is it so hard to remember
The taste of a smile when
The sun disappears
Object permanence impaired
I trace the lines of this
Longing with blistered fingers
I know the forest waits for me
That the sap will run again




















