i loved a hypnotist 

he made a pocket watch of his face.
back & forth in the kitchen, moonlight
to feast on. a promise is a kind
of stone laid at the feet of the reciever.
i stepped & stepped on stones until 
the world was glass around me.
reflections & distortions. 
his visage in every corner. 
he said, "& now you are a vase."
my throat filled with lillies.
a pitcher for water. then, at dusk
when we fought over the willow tree's death,
he said, "you area bird call."
days after i spent between the beaks
of two robins in the yard. my body was
an instrument case. he stood on the roof
playing my mind like a flute.
then, there were days of great beauty.
i woke up & in the golden morning light
he pronounced, "you are a swan."
i believed him as deep as my bones.
everything felt true & lovely. feathers.
flocks. winter as a mother. he carried me
to the living room. another day when he said,
"you are a mother." i cradled a morsel 
of dark shadow through the house.
then, eventually, as always, it wore off
& i was like his ghost. his fingers
through my hair. now, i ask myself
why me? why me when any body would
have spun for him? he is out there somewhere
ringing doorbells & asking for sugar.
i feel like he empited part of me 
& kept it to make space 
for every illusion i was.

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