Stella Goodall

Washington Park

I stroke a cat for as long as its tail will allow
I have nothing in the refrigerator
I am cleaning the fingernails of time
I constantly breathe erratically
I have a desk calendar which is completely empty
I wish Saturday was seven days long
I saw snow prints in the park below shaped
like the United States.
I look at purple skies for a long time before turning away.
I touch the whiskers of a man without thinking
I think that's what passion is
I have no claims on stability, and the dried flowers…
This is my spine. My breath is filled with it.

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