Foam in an October sea
is folded like the belly after childbirth,
a flock of hair sticks to lipstick.
I readjust my hat, to be more
yellow, more red. The photographer
covers one of my eyes with a maple leaf,
they are consumer goods of poetic industry.
Last night I was sitting in front of an elevator,
I was lost.
A boy came and was young and familiar,
we started drinking strong liquor and without a sigh
he touched the skin of my thigh.
At breakfast I realized I wasn’t