You can’t sleep, so you pull on hard boots,
walk to the park where bruised trees
and sway, a horse with human face waits
beneath a fallen oak.
When you wake to the sound of lawn mowers,
you remember everything. The mare. The broken
black piano was only a tent splattered with broken
pikake blossoms, like pieces of a girl’s dress.
Let’s say you do succeed in changing your life
and all the others marching away from you;
remember when you had one hand on my breast,
and the other pointed a pistol at the lake.
Stop me, you whispered, help me choose.