By Han Waldman
my life had stood untethered
and then my eyes - cut through,
touching you with screen doors
slammed aside - my memory
passing through silk - or something
painting viscous pictures so
the world begs - less pretty
i say goodbye to the tilt
of reflection - love delivered
in the mouth of a crow is still -
love, shiny and returned - heavy
under the palm of its new owner
The Woodlands 