There is much I haven’t told you about

Me.

I am here

Reading a book in the dark.

My brain has a heart and the hollowed-out

Top of my skull is green and blue

And pink, like a sea cave.

My heart has a face. It is ugly

Like the world is. There is poetry

In the word poverty, a flower

That is in fact a symbol

That is ancient and difficult, difficult

And ancient. Utterly inaccessible

Because it is mine.