We can only access what is real through the mediation of language,

but that doesn't mean if you stick a knife through your chest

you're not going to get hurt. What I mean: our bodies

get in the way of our souls all the time. It's not the words,

it's the gesture of them. Going through us like bullets

through trees. Not the little birds falling to the ground,

but their falling. Not their falling, but something in the stretch

they have to fall. When two people walk into an open field,

each holding a pistol, facing each other, walking backwards,

counting down, it's not each other they're shooting at,

but the distance between them. I would rip out my heart

to give to you but that's not what I'm trying to say.

What am I trying to say? When I was a kid

my dad punched my bedroom door and the tear in the paint

looked like a face. I wanted to be good, said the face.

I believe you, I said, I believe you, Dad, I do.