Book of Disclosures

She wanted to taste the fire inside the corn,

cried over photographs of other people’s cakes.

Once she punched a cake. Those memories

surface often, like a flood of bus stop pigeons.

She hoped to meet an owl before she died,

did nothing at all to further this agenda item

other than looking up. Curious about clocks,

she asked a lot of questions regarding their guts.

Was there an ocean inside them, for example?

How did the first craftsman know where to lodge

the quiet snore of gears? She asked for holy

water to be distilled down into an adhesive seal

that might ride the forehead all week long

the same way she tumbled her bike into hollows

and ravines regardless of weather. Little reek

of the river which was mostly things left behind.

Once she bit a tree. It was softer than expected.

The blossoms remained unchanged or fell like hail.