Allow a slip of the tongue now and then when nobody's looking,
snatch the truth back up and bury it in your pocket
to tumble crumpled into a collection of inky snowflakes in the wash.
Find them again and feel bitter that no one saw their truth.
Cut your heart into breadcrumbs,
spread out for wild animals and left-over the earth,
part of you hoping someone will follow.
Try not to care when they scatter it to the birds.
Hide behind braids of flowers in the garden back,
listen with breath baited for hurried footsteps and searching hands -
a solo game of Marco Polo.
Miss a beautiful afternoon
whispering "I'm here"
choosing to be lost and losing moments.
Hush your heartbeat like a monk's.
Imagine eating monkshood and monkeyhead mushrooms
until it’s quiet for good.
Cross the interstate line that separates dreamtime from the world,
curse the violence of longing for a different life.
Hang a vacant sign over the nape of your neck
smacking against your collarbones