Honestly if I could choose I would be
the largest and most terrifying bird    not to be measured
by thin line after thin line
this is to protect myself   
from shattering into sheer
tenderness and wonder    into cinnamon sleep
I’ve never had consistent feelings about anything
except sincerity    a friend says   
that if she hears one more reference
to a woman opening    she will vomit
and I agree because I would love
to close more things   
like doors to private spaces and like    
my dumb face    which insists
on staying open    a shame of angles
burns to the impossible to wet pulp
each morning I need    time to refold myself
to move my big bags into a new room    to sort and rearrange
while I shiver through this world the pink sky
of the plains calms me   
entrusted with cradling
a pink cloud    which leaks from my arms    
and strangers make me weep    I cannot explain      
and I am going to the field   
though it’s all    already over