Three Poems

Clothes
Once they come undone, there's no stopping
The undoing of all that keeps us us not we.
From a room full of history and underwear,
I throw out my diary and walk naked.

Until we're talking of weather again,
Contact shrunk back to wherever it sprang from.
And I'm begging for it all: coat, hat, gloves, scarf-
Shoes shod in iron, and a waterproof.

Awaiting Burial
Being born was as painful as this -
The crusade of the heart to bloom in mist,

The pull of blood
...