Do I exist if I doubt?
How do my newly-shaped limbs
come into being?
I must be here, anchored
in the movement
of falling snow.
Doubts
float over my liquid
self
curdling it into a thought—
a glimpse
of what I may become.
I hear his steps in the house
filling the air
with random
anger.
I think up lovers,
white beasts
shedding their hair
on the black earth.
for Willow, the pointer-setter
who are you digging for sweetheart?
what scrap
of your life
have you stashed
in the ground? whose
memories
have replenished
the soil? how I wish
it were mine this
single-minded
joy
for digging my sole
purpose
hinging on finding
what I can only sense
is there
something
clean as a bone
sufficient unto itself
enough
to feed someone’s hunger
“These poems address my constant struggle to inhabit life fully, to make every moment lived and every word dropped on the page matter. It’s an impossible quest for authenticity (particularly for someone whose self-perception is often skewed), but it’s what keeps me going and fills my life with purpose. ”