today a woman tucked me between her legs like an egg // of course I think egg // she tells me each chakra is blocked // it feels prickly, she says of the hand between // my hipbones // you can pray now, // she says of the hand // on my forehead // what I don’t ask is // when will this heart boat itself across the ocean // when will this heat break // I want a winter twice as long as summer and I applaud the flock // of geese pulling the night sky like a white thread // ask me about habituation // and I’ll show you Paris in July // how the days noosed me like a turtleneck // each dawn a misfiring of cortisol // listen / I threw a silk dress over the balcony // onto a street in Montmartre // isn’t that another way of saying I need this, too? // please don’t misunderstand me // my husband sings and I fall to my knees // I should know better at this point // than to believe my own body // but hasn’t the story already changed because I told it // don’t I circle my life like a vulture for sound bites // the hot black of a movie theater // panic-bent over the sink // the water glass in four pieces // the fist I recognized in the dream // what would you tell her, the woman asks // about my own shivering body on that bed // I’d say you wanted enlightenment // did you think you’d find it at the bodega // next to the sunflowers // I’d say pay attention // I’d say wipe your face // get some rest // you’re going to need it // I’d say you said you were ready // so show me