The prairie rolled out like the sea:
the waves the vastness the wind
in the shell of your ear: the magnolia.
I thought the worst
had happened to me:
a tinnitus of the ribcage petals
encircling my feet like a super-sale of pink
slippers: I was giddy with grief.
Years later I watched a monk
stuff a buoyant bouquet of pink
balloons into a dumpster:
just like that: I knew I was all of them
when the lid rang shut.