I know enough now to rewrite this and say “I was assigned to ‘be’ male when I was born, because I had this stupid stunted genitalia that looks like a penis, but I have always been a woman! THANK GOD!
After A Kill There Is A Feast.
Toward The End, When Dancing Dies,
The Hounds, Drunk On Hares’ Blood
Begin To Talk Of How Soft
Were Their Pelts, How Graceful
Their Leaps, How Lovely
Their Scared, Sad Eyes
Regression
I have seen, in my solitude
Very clear things that are
not true.
The poet does not pursue
the fundamental “I”
but the essential “you”.
Things to ponder:
a heart that is solitary is
a heart no longer
But when you criticize me,
Catch also
a cricket by the wing
and accuse her
of chirruping!
In misty morning’s early grasp
autumn rituals of smoke
and crackly leaves
lay strewn around about…
and I hover
twixt two times,
two places and wandering
from side to side
and place to place
and me to me,
fading, forming,
transparent and thin
dropping (fig) leaves.
this tree longs
to slumber
and lay dormant
awaken and
break free…
I take on form and visage
and gather threads together
of my true heart,
and feed to life’s
warp and weft and beam
till I am fashioned again,
with face and substance shining…
me…
Her glowing Grace-Kissed Gleam.
3/4 time the music swirled
unfurled and rolled along
while life just twisted, doubled, curled
and sang its starry song.
Pastiche, panoramas, plans
click by like slides before
the slumbering spirits too drunk on draughts
of dreamy days of yore…
and nights of normal life, assumed,
taken as granted and gifted
while life just twisted, doubled, curled
and sang its white swan song.
Waltz time strains echoing through
A life time of refrains
But Joy endures with compass True
To dance, to love, Sustain.
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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