When She Goes Out Alone

Nights when she goes out alone what does she want. To hunt lions? Drill the ground? Hear unearthly voices? Receive warning signals from the sea?

What does she want. To feel human beings moment to moment? (A late-night café reminds her of thorns.) To balance water briefly in her hands? To fill the sun with strange fowl?

What does she want. Gentleness has no power. That’s why she walks on tiptoe. Sometimes she commands convoys of red dogs she has painted and thinks she’s their escort. Sometimes she sits in a pink flute and thinks she’s asking for help she needs air–