of a woman


evening light goes

feet cold

and Tracy sings

and i lean in

and consider my core

and what is it but a song,

a story of muscle

            of bone

            and insistence

of gravity and other pulls such as desire,




            and memory


what else is it but

            the leavetaking of a day

            the end of a beginning

            a breath held or

            a long ride in a fast car


wherein you find me

counting backwards

watching the sun down and

the birds defying all that holds me here:



            and anticipatory


what is this, my core:

woven, distracted and shining

forever seeking the ridiculous and

sometimes considering the wow:

this light core

this fleet-footed engine

at the heart of this self-inflicted mystery

of a woman