Toad and I are returning. All afternoon, trains
Have powered on from here to everywhere.
‘Toad, I am in a quandary,’ I announce, and
The toad shakily ribbits, as if I wasn’t there.



For Journee International de la Femme

Universal mother who walks the hills
Can I stay in your womb for a while?
With my head on the wall of your cave of flesh
And blood-splashed paper bucked up in my hand.