white line broken line white dividing
right from right white sign house oh

paper sheets of sheets
robes of hoods winking
clouds stirring storm

Leisurely, the evening sky puts on the robe

held up for it by a crown of ancient trees;

What did I know then of the resurrection through
metal?

When you die
Will your lives attend your funeral

“You’re not even dead, are you?” I think to ask
as my cappuccino mug slips to the floor.

Rather than escaping,
this land accepts itself;
thus it is gentle and harsh,
vulnerable and saved.

Day opens with my elbow resting
On a wooden table

Cutting corners because that’s all we have to cut,
pulling ourselves through the needle’s eye

So listen.

You have to change.

You have to stop being yourself.