Oh, young maid! Your life (and laying) ahead of you, the tingle
of edges, just brushing near. Ever-encirclement of electrified perfume.
I would caution you against it.
I might suggest a small box for your heart, made of glass with real silver,
solid-fear, mineral luster, my dear.
With etched letters: Break glass in case of emergency.
The alarm will sound, but your heart will be there.
Because you will lose him.
You will shroud your face.
You will not stay intact.
Aimless, round the looked-over lake, gone to garden
without a basket. Him/you tear-feathers down-floating from eyes lashed.
He cannot be unneeded.
Crack/cry, incant, appeal, senseless-beseech, you
caught-need fiend of heat! I have no ears to take you in.
Do not listen to me.
Roll yourself in love like butter on a cob. Get glisten between
toes. In starless-granite mourning, your mind will trip
over its lastness.
Widow Soliloquy
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