The Not-Self

after Octavio Paz

Is to be the coffin then?

The world is still liquid

If you flew the sky’s length

it’d be yellow your whole

ascent.

So one door howls

open and we’re on the floor

full from all the candy

the children can’t find.

Once.

Carry on as you will

sharp as a wet towel snap.

Where you cleaned

I enter naked

beautiful and indifferent

brotherly.

    My identity intact

as the day

             the haze that flew

from out my hands

                           the haze

of such heavy arms down

my side those marching

days

   like tree branches

wanting to be cut.