but nothing conforms
to the reason it has.
Think of a baseball skinned
and nailed to a post
as a warning
to the unwelcome few.
Think of a leather belt.
You have knitted my mouth
at the lip. Your clacking needles
and goat-hair wool.
You promised a scarf.
I will sing with words half-formed.
My breath will be an anguish to your ear.
I will eat through the tips of my fingers.