A man I pass every morning told me, yesterday: you must be a native, dressed like that.
I wore a pallet of grey, black, and brown.
I assumed it was these colors that made him say such a thing.
Then, I saw myself.
A native alien in this strange land,
but four hundred years before now.
An imposter amongst the indigenous.
A civilized lady gone native.
A warrior savage with hunters who fall with her.
And, now, I see that
the Sound is water and sky together.
A point of infinity from whence we cannot distinguish air from liquid.
And, now, dearheart, night became itself.
The moon waxes nearly full,
jumping from one side of the street to the other,
as I snake around two city blocks. And,
even clearer now does the tower
with twenty seven windows crumble before mine eyes.
I built those eleven steps to its front door two decades ago.
Where many may think: what has become of my work?
I think: that old thing is still standing?! Didn’t Æ cry “to dispose of this” as the Philistines yelled at Daniel in a Lion’s den.
I know: a lioness does well in a lion’s den.