A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
I have nothing to give you.
Nothing is so marked that it cannot cheat you
By its own nature and pass through your hands
Like fairy money.
I stand surrendered, the dogs
Are looking for me and they will find me
Because my hands are empty
And my house is paper.
The clouds move fast like smoke.
Tomorrow the sun reveals my secrets.
The face in the mirror fades.
There is nothing to be done or said.
Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Romero