Not understanding
what I was I

took a piece out
of my side and

smashed it
and diffused it through

the hole in what
had been my side

beginning to see
myself though
faintly still just

catching at
myself. I

was dust. And
distance, distance

descried by
dust. I am

no longer together, I
said, perhaps I am

free. And I

ignited then.


Some parts I

remember. For
example, when I drew

out from bleared dark
alive my shape, alive

how it trembled
dark to

pieces. Later, how
my many bodies
swam together,

silvering. And I
remember the stitch of

dusk, the dew

that rose to meet
my instep arch. The first

time I flew. The first time
I was afraid.


I have given
the last of my

dreams away
to the separate
animals. They

do not know me, who
am them. And I

do not recall

building this city, its
black water blooming

on its walls. I must
have placed one

stone upon a stone,
and then another stone

upon a stone,
the dust motes as I

did it crying fool, and
crying star, crying

let go, let

go, and then just go,
and then just