Last night I dreamed Sylvia Plath
she asked me to help wrap her body
in yards of faded calico gauze. She wanted
to cover her wounds, oozing
like expanding territories on a map, they take over
her feet, her thighs, her thumbs.
when night chases me, I fight back the dark to save myself
(in the saving, i lose
that blood soaked cloth,
you ask if i can cure you--when i, all i can do,
the blood the cloth and i
through deserts of a dozen reds i run...