Maybe if you could see yourself
from a distance
you could see what people see
when they see you close up

they can see the canaries and the penguins
and the darts flying through air,
like missiles above a city
only the trajectory is all wrong.

Only the sonnet is wrong,
and the signature on the dotted line,
a pool of light in the puddle
at the bottom of the well.

Maybe if you abandoned the song
and the tubes of the radio went dead
you would rub the hands of a stranger
in the storm.

You would lie on a mattress
with broken springs and take your
swings with your foot
in a bucket.

If you close your eyes tight you
might recognize me if I touch
your skin. The tattoo of a flower
in the shape of a heart.