--- C O L E T T E   D E D O N A T O

It seems I have two lives: one blighted by worry
and the indignity of useless regretting,
the other a kind of windy, unmeasured grace
marked by intermissions of nonsense.

What could have been half an eyeful of history,          
the brutal blood running through me,
transposes itself like a child's play or

laughter turning its shiny belly
towards the light, just as winter adds
to the poetry of a house
dominated by straight lines.

Contradiction is the test of necessity,
you say.  So where do you rightfully
belong in the second act of becoming?
If  I have a red window I cant
see my room as anything but pink.

I have no answers that I know of.

Sometimes the words don't arrive,
just their sounds.