Let it come like the wave with
the salty foam. Let it reflect
my insides like a face held towards
new cutlery. Let it take my rhythm for
its own, express it in the wings of angry crows
and the trees in communion with the wind.
Let it steel my lover for four nights,
leave my bed an empty socket for all my
demons to gather and join. Let it hurl
a fist at the clock, at the pressure of duty
and guilt I should not feel. Let it mimic
my cries at the corner store where a woman
sits on a curb, crazy with undirected grief.
Let it be in the eyes of my cat as he stalks
the birds in his mind.
Let me kneel before it in my room,
and tell my husband what I have found.
Let it be like a fledgling in the morning singing
or like a wound that alters my appearance.