We present this work in honor of the 15th anniversary of the poet’s death.

Touch my heart
here where the beat pounds
is it faint
is it louder

Touch my face
here on the cheeks
is the tear drying on its own
is it flowing salted warmly

Touch my hands
here where a stone is enfolded in one
is it a hard rock
is it hot with waiting

Touch my brow
here where it meets its own madness
are the folds hardening
are they sweating out the anger

There’s nowhere you can touch me
without the realization that
I am not the person of yesterday
The fangs are bared for action