Walking alone I get the distinct feeling that I have an enormous nose.
Nobody will admit the truth but I see it everywhere.
One day I won't have a nose anymore
and I won't have a have anymore and I won't be a self I will
be with someone else with another stranger with
noses enough to feed an orphanage until the sun expands and swallows the earth.

She is a practice of chiropractors wrapped in a thin blanket wrapped
in the skin of a little girl trying to get more lost in the woods.
She watches men from New England in
brightly colored short shorts grow similar facial hair
and carry similar identification papers and sleep
in similar positions like the crane
or the fetal or the my-knees-are-so-cold.

She says she watches them take water polo lessons in the shower
and she cuts open soda cans to build a big umbrella.
There will be rain she promises,
this Tuesday or next.