Seeing myself hung
in the mirror at the end of the hall
is no different than when I would come
up against my face
as a child, and think
I do not look like someone
yet. And now, while washing my face
after leaving you
alone, my reflection
in the bathroom mirror
is a visitor
from a country
that doesn't exist.
I close my eyes and make nothing
to want so I can sleep
get in the bright light
with the good boat and row
past my own bad time
of breaking by breaking
into the future where I go
to the grocery store
to look for the Lake
brand milk I sipped in my dream
the craving haunts
my stomach still, the milk
was gathered from a creamy lake called
The Whites of Your Eyes.
I stood in the open
fridge and drank from the carton
the milk floating over my tongue
like a dead woman's slip.