She went there for rest, for months
no clue where she went, too many
at a time. Even the park felt enfolded
in conversation and every nerve
in its bowers of shrubs, all snug
ratting out the next tatterdemalion
within, all within bounds. Nothing
on the blink of eclipse, her celestials
surprised, nobody roused. No thought
had screamed down their livid violet chaos
of complaining, she let the days bide,
clear into the cul-de-sacs of her toes,
wading through lines and the time
demapped her, and bewitched the equation
it took to fill her tray, or take her pills
by which the self has one voice, fugues
slid on by as if lightly greased. Hours
spilled, segued, divorced, out of her head she
fell into courteous clusters, each
knew what she didn’t, where she wasn’t
taking her in as easily as it bid her
name, need, fight or fear, worry, reason and
on to the next, until day slid into evening.
Which she took as a nod of permission,
thought boxing her out of their way in,
having never been so unbothered
she now kites and tangles, both kite and string
to retire before nightfall.
Across Beyond 