Words like fences or dams,
something you can’t see through,
something to keep things in check until
you’re alone with yourself–
there’s just no escaping genre.
That thing not recognizably you,
things you’ve taken on for no good,
where the surprise came from–
what, were you not looking?
Better a hand to keep from harm–
shoot well the hart says to the hunter–
the field’s still wide open
but the world’s compressed into
the worst possible place.
How love makes difference, then
how there’s no sorting what’s asunder
when you didn’t know it was.