open/closed

i say goodbye and yet i find myself thinking about you again

i think about you in the weeping willow

singing a song of emotions that i do not know

i wonder if given the opportunity

the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;

i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;

i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;

my name? what is my name?