You can’t sleep, so you pull on hard boots,
walk to the park where bruised trees
moan 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 is a tent
with broken pikake blossoms,
like pieces of a girl’s dress.
Let’s say you do succeed in changing your life
that day, and all the others marching
away from you;
you will remember
you had one hand on my breast,
and the other pointed a pistol at the lake.
Stop me, you whispered, help me choose.