A collector bought my name from your lips
And wrapped it in a drop of rain
Like a ship in a bottle.
I published his crime in a book of poetry,
Which only emboldened him--
He then stole the softness of your hair from my fingertips.
I had him brought before a judge
On a day when the sun fell through the sky like a coin through a slot--
The judge said she was sick of testimony and contention
And declared a carnival.
I was the wheel, both lofty and low.
The collector was time.
You were the girl who laughed from a thousand mirrors,
Shook her hair,
And never spoke my name again.