I am rubble now, my shoulders, my breast, all armored beautifully beneath my pondering head, a crown of daylilies my heart and spleen at the meeting place of red remnants and bitter dandelion greens my liver my living organs gray and white stones, a thatch of dry grass in the place my sex lies, sweet red drops of color upon my thigh, my leg, as from a bloody wound upon my heart, my head, my beautiful warriors shoulders. when will I rise from my broken beds, my seat of small white stones? when from the memory of myself in contemplation of no self? my shadow a mirror of the void, my loss of myself among the swiftly climbing grasses, not looked for not mourned?