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My hair is falling out

So give it to the midnight crows and let them bring it to
a little black girl should she set out seeds of a hungry sunflower.

May they wrap it around a chip of bright amber or tuck

it inside the nostril of a rotting field mouse. Teach her meat;
she needs to know. Though, the pink tendon is worse as we age.

Like a gate at which we like to shut our eyes. Rub the sore

scalp. Sleep to Liszt and catch a snail up off the ground
which they won’t like it’s ok to make a world in which things eat

each other. Make room for believing. Climb down off the world dying                                                   and feed something. Open up the yard.