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This from the girl I call Alma.

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This woman Alma is a
mysterious presence in my book.

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She's not exactly me but she
is in the book quite a lot.

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The girl I call Alma, the girl
I call Alma who is so white

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is good, isn't she?

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Even though she does not speak,
you can tell by her distress

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that she is just like the
beach and the sea, isn't she?

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And she is disappearing,
isn't that good?

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And the White curtains
and the secret smile

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are just her way with
the lies, aren't they?

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And that we are not alone
ever and that everything

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is backwards otherwise, and
that inside the no is the yes,

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isn't it?

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Isn't it?

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And that she is the
God who perishes

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the food we eat, the body we
fuck, the loose net we throw

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out that gathers her fish, fish
white son tell me we are one

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and that it's the others
who scare me not you.

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