The dentist shows me photographs
of my teeth, their vintage fillings
glisten like mountain lakes,
their alpine peaks ground down
from years of carrots, nuts, 
popcorn kernels. He shows me
fissures in the rocks, places
where the silver has turned
into wedges that threaten
to split my molars into shards.
It’s all happening now:
my knees buckle as I’m walking,
my uterus is tired, my feet deformed,
my nails have taken in fungi,
my mind is heavy with memories
and opinions it has picked up
along the way like a glacier
acquires rock debris.

A September storm
surprises the garden
and beats away
the muscular web
of the wood spider
that guards 
the fig tree.
I wade through
the broad and dripping
leaves to find a squirrel
wide-eyed, frozen
on a branch, its face
buried in the sticky
roseate entrails
of a big green fig.
Its wary eye
is fixed on me.
I move my hand
to brush a strand
of web from my face;
the squirrel vanishes,
the fig drops to the ground
and I know summer
is over.

After you leave, my heart folds in on itself. 
I lie for days doing nothing.
Spiders go about their chores, trapping food 
and clearing away flies from the bedroom.
Poppies punch up their fists 
and open their petals to the sun.
Caterpillars rejoice as they ravage 
the fragrant basil leaves.
Sunlight fills the kitchen.

On my bed in the darkened room 
I turn away from the light 
that pushes at the window.
The neighbor’s baby discovers laughter.
The old man in the corner café savors the last bit 
of his stew, chasing the sauce around his plate 
with a crust of bread.
The accountant’s husband lies on a hotel bed 
with his young lover, imagining flowers 
springing up all over the room.
Crows break out in raucous cackle 
among the ficus leaves.

I swear I will never open my heart again.
A hose left on too long floods an ant colony; 
the horrified survivors scramble out clutching 
above their heads all the eggs they can retrieve.
A fire rages in a far-off land, killing thousands 
and sending refugees to camps 
in neighboring countries; uprooted orphans 
play soccer with a ball made of scraps of cloth.
A clear stream tumbles down the mountain, 
singing its way over the rocks.

Entropy continues its work on my vital organs 
as I lie along the gray light of evening.
The gardener’s child loses his first tooth 
in a cube of caramel.
The cat proudly displays its vanquished mouse. 
An innocent man begs for his life before a deaf jury; 
his widow will never know love again.
A wind tears at the branches, 
but it will not rain this year.

The dog sits by the door. 
He knows if he waits long enough, 
something good will happen.