I might go / downrushing / danger / honeyvoiced . . .
Sappho came
to me by way of open
window, fire-sparked eyes
and all. She whispered, “but, women.”
Sappho stretched out
on a yoga mat,
next to mine, whispered,
“but, women.”
Sappho joined me
and Freddie Mercury
for a song in the long drive over,
whispered, “but, women.”
Sappho in the stairwell,
Sappho on the lawn, Sappho in the dark
of the theater, Sappho in graffitied
bathroom stall, Sappho in the song—
“but, women,”
“but, women,” “but, women.”