It's Not Your Fault —Emily Carr
this is how the world
wants to be children
run with halfeaten popsicles
water the trashcan with their
pistols shooting blanks shooting
blanks shooting
rightside up: a summit sleeping
next to a lake. here
winter comes
with her runt drowned sun. a rainbow
limps raggedly across
the salt lick. for love:
the singing god goes to the dead
what you need to believe: some
where paradise is completing
herself somewhere outside our reach
somewhere without us
[frozen human tracks] [a discarded
sneaker, child-size] [what if those were
the good days
a bird murders herself on the
plateglass the boy Nietzsche in a
peaked cap winds up the sun goes
down practicing surrender
so sharp it cuts the hurt
together not apart
as if the fear of being
found out for who we were
never ended. a hope so wide
you could drive
right through
