a sharp pain shot through the ground
in a room without windows
car doors slam
buddha arrives
from indiana
with feathers
in her hair
every month
staggers in
with lettuce
turning brown
sky is clear
wind is blurred
it’s a perfect day
I kissed buddha
several times
as the sun squatted
behind the forest
it’s time for my liver
to make new friends
don’t touch my organs
as you squeeze my heart
outside the emergency room
this one belongs
like a postcard
in the hand of god
***
