Bleeding heart flowers and
cemetery vine. Gone forever now.
Imagine never having seen an ocean,
life like a haunted hospital with
hostile curses since my wedding day.
Damn that clam bake in Revere when
your scalp hunter friends came
to bargain, their neck veins straining
like sailors knots through grommets, as
they cast lustful looks my way.
Cranes and doves mate for life.
As does the sleek white Trumpeter,
ruffling his feathers to tempt a Leda.
But then again, so do crows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.