i am afraid.
i have wrapped these words in cellophane
and reviewed them systematically. i measured
their tenor and felt the way they set
my nerves into whispering.
i showed these words to the magpie
and he cackled, threw them into the air
and grinned. i was only trying to save them,
they’re the only ones i can remember.
yet the grass is green again, and green eyes
appear along branches. i am hanging a basket
to catch the words that fall, if the magpie
doesn’t steal them.
i am afraid, if i have the words or not. i am
the body of fear, and it sings when you
ask it to sleep.