PORTRAIT IN OCHRE AND SEVEN WHISPERS
i.
To make and remake one’s self isthe artist’s job, I believed. And so, in poems,I gave myself wings. But even then, I made surethe wings could notlift me to safety. Even my imagination failed me.
The Dark Whispers
i. We ride horses in the slowly-falling snowand you tell me it is Summer, it is warm,and I don’t quite believe you, but I love you,so I go along with the oddly humorous deception. My mother says “Love is blind”and “Hindsight is 20/20,” but it doesn’t