From within my bodily singularity

I play at sending out gentle sunbeams.

I don't believe in myself, but in someone

else who comes to visit

by chance or because

they want to: afloat on the waves close to the boat

one sweltering morning, the large turtle did not swim away

at once—was it curious about us too? dolphins

came by all summer, swallows

built their mud nests on the walls of the house.

I believe in what I am afraid of, what

could eat me, and will: after death, a turtle

can be home to a dozen families. a human

before death is home to tiny beings,

feeds its own end so that bare life

can swim on, assuming any color it wishes.

in the woman with the orange umbrella,

when summer's over and we're in Warsaw,

I believe. through her I'm my own self entirely

differently, through him, through you.

and in this rain: since the drops

fall from the sky, fall from the roof,

fall from the trees, their unstoppable flight

is the essence

of my freedom.