This from the girl I call Alma.
This woman Alma is a mysterious presence in my book.
She's not exactly me but she is in the book quite a lot.
The girl I call Alma, the girl I call Alma who is so white
is good, isn't she?
Even though she does not speak, you can tell by her distress
that she is just like the beach and the sea, isn't she?
And she is disappearing, isn't that good?
And the White curtains and the secret smile
are just her way with the lies, aren't they?
And that we are not alone ever and that everything
is backwards otherwise, and that inside the no is the yes,
isn't it?
Isn't it?
And that she is the God who perishes
the food we eat, the body we fuck, the loose net we throw
out that gathers her fish, fish white son tell me we are one
and that it's the others who scare me not you.