Tell them not everything is illuminated
I could have disappeared sooner, walked out the front
door – the dishes still gleaning from their washing, the
sun slanting but not yet shuttered. Tell them not to look
for me, I left in my best dress, blue and ending below my
knees – it’s summer where I am. When I move, I spin gold.
If they wonder how I am, say I am on a swing, feet reaching
into the night sky – what can they offer that will compare?