Trace me with chalk
So I know where I end
And where the asphalt
Begins. Draw around
My edges, closely, in white.
Show where I’m small and
Where I’m not.
On your crisp sheets,
Touch me with fingers
Rough and dry around
My ankles, past my hips,
Across my wrists so
I know they exist.
When I’ve been carried
Away, let there be a trace
Of me to prove I was
Really here, that my body
Lay here, breathless.