all of the raspberries gone from my hands
and when the water runs low
i sly against the house and hold the walls in my birchtree arms
the lake smells awful today
and every day
the birds come and take little pieces of my body away with them
we are the same underneath these stains
my portrait is still learning how to dry
and i am following them into the woods tonight
i will find their paintings and their cars
i will be quiet