she said my face is a flame
that cannot be extinguished
a frightening flare
that remembers what
should best be
forgotten
the sound
of crying somewhere
down the tiled hallways
of nurses’ shoes
moving quickly over
speckled brown
and beige squares
too late to wipe away
anything but the last
tears
Don’t scrutinize my dreams
my REM moments, too
closely
I tell her over
coffee and shafts
of bright sun,
what happens at four
should stay…
well, you know
how to finish that
Z
Zander In Print 