Psyche Considers Her Last Letter from Cupid

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All of them collected

in a box with blue ribbon,

like a vein across

her stupid ribcage.

His blocky letters, such

a strange architecture.

What buildings and what

windows make up

this dark village, her heart?

But

there is only one brick,

only one wild(er)ness

that will ever match his —

of jungle and blue skunk

sky. If you try to catch

a butterfly a thousand

filaments of feather

will dissolve into dust

on your finger

and good thumb.

                     Of course when you find a new

& bright beetle without

wings, you’ll get the urge

to pin her to a linen-covered

board. So you do

and you do and you do.