I'm having trouble beginning,
but I know the earth still
rotates:
I know the sun goes down,
sometimes wonder if it's "up."
I'm on the edge
of the atmosphere
hanging by kite
strings
attached to tree
limbs, flapping
in this dead wind.
I'm left in the clouds of
March, full of that heavy
heavy rain.
I squeeze it from my eyes,
the heaviness showing
in my eyelids.
