Untitled

Either a snail's moist web
of moonlight, or someone's
hot breath at four a.m.
when the night has been
too much, has eaten
you whole.
This is for you,
my life. It has been
sifted through the bones
of my body, through
blood.
It is all that
I have.

Harjo, Joy. "Untitled." She Had Some Horses. NY: Thunder's Mouth Press, (c)1983, p. 49.