SYRINX, A PASTORAL FICTION II
Stashed under my mattress I've got
the cleanest heart on earth,
like a fish washed by the rain
that floods me deep down.
I wake up each day with a different body
from the one I went to bed with,
and I'm never sure if what I am
is the project or memory of what I was.
I hug the powerful but accurate arms
that brought me last night to where I am,
and as I sip coffee I read today's weather
in the leaves of the parks trees.
Later on I'll cross the bridges
to buy, sell and trade life on fire,
but cautiously, lest I scorch
my artful princess's hands.