Lake Michigan II

For ten days I slept only four or six hours, subject
              to a small blonde bulldog. But deeply, her
a burr to me. I’d never had a pet; I did not expect
              to let her into the bed. But I soften and warm.
Like my old love I loved her despite, which made it
              no less true. It seemed the lake was leaving me
the longer I strayed east. My choice was not choice but a wish,
              only mine, the way his naps in late afternoon were his.
When we watched the flat world we weren’t 
              flat anymore, especially me, my small breasts, but we couldn’t
parse it. The night is still there behind the day.
              A new feeling told me how beautiful I was
and how silly was it that I agreed. This was a true account
of how it will have happened, and then it was simply true.