PLANT SPRUNG IN AN ABANDONED HOUSE FILLED WITH SUNLIGHT

My hands squeeze bloodinto the candle wax.A little scar in the candlefrom my knuckleis the shape of my mother’s teethbiting into an applewhile the rabbit drips fat over the campfire.In the dream I played a wooden instrumentwith dials and keys, switches and toggles, and string,and I sung for hours.Listeners came and sat and went,but I played the box for hours,and it just meantthat I believed in myself again.