Amelia Klein

1.

Not understanding

what I was I



took a piece out

of my side and



smashed it

and diffused it through



the hole in what

had been my side



beginning to see

myself though

faintly still just



catching at

myself. I



was dust. And

distance, distance



descried by

dust. I am



no longer together, I

said, perhaps I am



free. And I



ignited then.



2.



Some parts I



remember. For

example, when I drew



out from bleared dark

alive my shape, alive



how it trembled

dark to



pieces. Later, how

my many bodies

swam together,



silvering. And I

remember the stitch of



dusk, the dew



that rose to meet

my instep arch. The first



time I flew. The first time

I was afraid.



3.



I have given

the last of my



dreams away

to the separate

animals. They



do not know me, who

am them. And I



do not recall



building this city, its

black water blooming



on its walls. I must

have placed one



stone upon a stone,

and then another stone



upon a stone,

the dust motes as I



did it crying fool, and

crying star, crying



let go, let



go, and then just go,

and then just



o.