Inside every rabbit grows a forest.
A map tells me I am just shy
of a thousand miles from the sand
pine nodding outside your window.
Each state between us jangles
like a coin box. Each city: an insect-
hole. I am too broke to come visit
you, and even so I have become
as small to you as the leak inside
a cup of water. A clean getaway
is just a row of bridges walled in
by fog’s cold mushroom. I imagine,
now, you gazing at someone new:
her eyes bright as keys, her hair
red-brown and soft as the pages
of that book you’ll tell her you love.
It is time that I must let this little fish
slip from my hand even as I am
blinded by all the salt of this world.