I mistook the white iris for a ship. Mistook
the dandelion for a bass player. Yes, you
always did say I was ungrateful. I mean
I mean a contrabassoon. I mean I think about
who puts the double reed to lips.
You said I was unbelievable and I said a ship
isn’t a suspension of belief it is flag-bearing,
engineered, resonant. Who makes what.
Elocution, Alice. And selfish, yes, you said that,
too. The mistake is not to mistake or not a failure
of engineering—is like Julia Child dropping a hen.
I mean a Baptist. I mean a well hole. Do you recall
falling in to the rustdark? I do. I do. It was a mirror
absence. I mean a bass line.
I mistook not saying so. The run through.
There, we’ve dropped the chicken, haven’t
we. I mistook
beauty in remembrance of sin. I mean
the ship was my fault. I’ll own it. I mean
I am from a place.