The fire on the American mountainside was dying down. My thought was that horror cannot be cheated if hope is to become believable.

As if without a man, winter could take over. / But I loved winter, love winter still, so / what am I trying to say?

My violence astonishes me some days, the way I regard the lesser / goldfinches in the lavender, each the size of a thumb, I want / to cram them into my mouth

I would tell him I told the officer you didn’t rape me. Because I was awake that morning before six. Because I was dressed for work. For the world.

Trust my inabilities. They are / reliable as gold. Count on the / gravity of my fragility. It will / always let you down.