lest she forget lest she speak without clearly deciding lest she let her hand slip & recoil, sudden turn of gaze faceless unnamed longing of shadowed dreams, impossible flow & always to bed in some strange hotel, familiar linens, feathered pillows & mattress pads

lest she forget herself, again

the poppies on the cross are contracting, & the stars.  she must draw someone into something, or be stoned.  there is a battle to be won.