oh, stella

The poems were easier
when I was younger.
Not, I imagine, because they were better
back then, when they hung,
like thought balloons, over my head,
full to bursting with the obviousness
that pain really does hurt.
They felt important, though,
Galilean in their scope.
I revolved. I dissolved. I was dizzy.
Now my poems are sighs of resignation.
I said it all.
I said too much.

*****

I have toes. See also: fingers. Fascinating.

I write . I take pictures .

Everything else is irrelevant.