I was last seen holding a balloon, on the corner of fifth Avenue,
blowing a bubble the color of lavender. I was last seen
in the sixth aisle at the grocery store, black t-shirt, tan arms, 
talking like a cat to a tall married man for reasons
I don’t and won’t and cannot understand. 
I was last seen with an armful of daffodils,
trying to avoid the spears.
 
When they find my body, I am green and gold,
one-third mud and one-third bone. I sing. 
The bees and I hum a lullaby, a soft-throated hymn,
that turns over and over (mistaken for the wind). 
I do not scream. I do not pray. 
 
I was last seen by the red canyons, barefoot,
probably spinning, probably almost-satisfied.
Nothing can keep my teeth content,
not the sun, not the love, not the fight.
Adoration makes me sick; infatuation curls my stomach;
even a fist or a knife can’t put my blood to rest. 
 
I want you to meet me where I’m the color of dreams,
where I don’t have the dance and I don’t have to sing,
with indigo soaked in gold. The sky breaking through the branches -
where you know that every monster you’ve ever met
once had a soul as soft and light as my new eyes.
 
I want you to meet me between this world and the next,
where the garden holds me close and the land offers no test.
Their hands cannot reach me and the air is safe;
being a fox doesn’t have to give way to chase,
I am free of distortion, free of an outside mind. 
 
I wanted to leave them but I wanted to be alive, and so earth it is and earth it shall be:
come down to the river and there we’ll meet,
come down to the river
and there you’ll breathe
where the breath was stolen from me.
 
 
 

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