Poker
Hard to run with hands
tied behind my back.
I give a little skip—over ash,
ocean, sagebrush—to show
my defiant will.
A cloud mocks me with its opulent sway.
Weeks since I threw away my pills,
days since my last bottle, drained.
I can fly. The dregs
dance in anticipation.
A deck of cards balances bareback.
Taut rhomboids hold the queen of spades.
Wherever I turn there’s my face.
A mask of shadow, mask of Mahler.
A mask built from closely watching water
watching air.