I wore her
disorder as a
for the spring of tears.
I took her voice.

Shivering, I
went over
the insights of her diary
with a pen
in a fat blue book that made up
for my not having
a body that spring.

I wanted to be the man she loved
who loved her
shivering.  I wanted to know what it’s like
to have desire.

* *
I went off
to find it
in the desert,
which is savage

but where rabbits are.
And ravens,
wise enough to know
you have a gun
when you walk across the field.
I never plowed that field.

On the low road
hardly visible
I took that gun to where the old car carcasses
lay, thick with
rabbits, &
I plowed that field.
I didn’t leave a grave.