Then I read a little bit of Sappho and wrote a sapphic,
having been away, out of the house because
of internal difficulties, such as not wanting
to get in the way of anything that she could
throw that would be dangerous.
But then feeling contrite afterwards.
Going down to the home of a poet who lives on Pender street
in Vancouver, which is the section for goods and poets.
"Pender Street Sapphic." You've sent me away
where I can think of you, how I love you for that.
How I see your soft body so clear now.
In this way, far across the city from you I listen to you,
you are my muse, my angel.
My love so desirable now fresh air treats my skin.
Now my eyes closed as they should always
open to your face.