oh dear sweet
salty are your wounds
and sacred is your laugh
which falls and leaps —
a yo-yo in a practiced hand,
your laugh is

Run about and tell the world that
you don’t love a soul,
throw your kite in the air
and make your laugh bounce when it falls —
twenty five cents in a pinball machine,
your laugh is

oh dear sweet,
red will be your wounds
until you let your stunning laugh fall to silence —
bite down on your leather belt
and stitch yourself up.

Then, someday your heart could rule your head.
You could defy gravity.
You could fall until the sun has set and never hit the ground.