No one ever really finds me.

If I went throught all the things I’ve ever written about in my poems
I would have time for nothing else. Not stargazing or hymn books,
not boiling soup or breaking apart crabs into tender meat. My mother
has a c-section scar as wide as the moon and two times
as painful. They say birth is supposed to be beautiful, that’s why
the scar is shaped like a smile. Most of what could possibly
happen in the universe to anyone ever
has happened to me. Rest assured that’s not a good thing,
that there is too much salt in this life of mine. Not enough honey
or parsley, not enough neighborhoods full of airports.
As far as I’m aware, nothing of the sort has occurred throughout the entire course of history. Speaking of history
ours is not such a pretty one. I wish you hadn’t done that
and by that we all know what I mean.
Today I climb into my poems like a window. There is one truth
that rises above all others in whatever I write:
I have always been an eclipse. No one ever really finds me.