In the garden I could not bear your appearance.
That vertical stroke, the green sidewise zip:
I am like a plan, you said—Look there—
and then you cut my sight.
Optician’s probe, indistinguishable razor in the cornea,
if I threw this fork at you, you wouldn’t understand
the miss: that is what it means to be insufferable.
Listen, hummingbird: diminution
is the exclusive purview of the slow-lived.
Your ruby heart hammers a thousand seconds
in an instant, and when it bursts,
you’ll be gone already to the next frame.
Teach me how, then: teach me how to leave
this thought behind.