No Alternative

Curate in a sealed box what with forgiveness you have graced, And all the rest—discard as needless waste. You remember. Let me relay a secret as dials tick, They do so from their base axis to their very peak. There is no voice. There is no reason, “I am here!” once more to call. Everything is in the box—the great hand, the fine, the small. There is no weight. From dawn until she sinks, A reddish sun, a good girl, a bad girl, a girl that is because she thinks. You do not part. Searching for alternatives as the years go by, The origins of your questions, long since ceased to reply. Part from the voices. Let yourself remember as you breathe—in, breathe deep, breathe out. In the first person, the present tense alone has any weight or clout. Say: I am a woman, beautiful and pensive. I am—and I have no alternative.