My muscles unravel 
like spools of ribbon: 
there is not a shadow 

of pain. I will pose 
like this for the rest 
of the afternoon, 

for the remainder 
of all noons. The rain 
is making a valley 

of my dim features. 
I am in Albania, 
I am on the Rhine. 

It is autumn, 
I smell the rain, 
I see children running 

through columbine. 
I am honey, 
I am several winds. 

My nerves dissolve, 
my limbs wither—
I don't love you. 

I don't love you.