My Hair Burned Like Berenice

Days of rain. The drey exterior my window would transport

and the wind would strip. My heart was valent

with plausibility I may well be presently, halfway lady,

half asterism. Fragmental as a modern time. Benefactor holy person

of the rutilant and cindering.

I seem run in secret

to places anticipated in office timetables. As well long I ’d

mothered myself with the reverence of bystanders.

I was appreciative to be alone in my deliberation. To be both

overlooked and rubbed by a coarse sky. I didn't offer up

passage of me like touching off.

I'll not decorate a single

half circle. The ground bulges with a damp sound.

It's glutted with what was given.

I do the wolfish work

of god and make myself once more. develop like lichen on

the asphalt.

Like rain carrying the memory of lightning.😃😄✋