Mine!
The Demon rides my coattails, desperate
To hang on; holding on to my life—
I have no coat with coattails; where then
Resides this Demon—where then, where then?
Of course, he’s got me by the short hairs,
Though all my hair is short? The dog barks,
The little dog—Trey, Blanch?—the storm speaks
Loudly, terrifying words in thunder,
Lightning; the room awakens, the dog hides,
Quietly; only the Demon turns
To face me, to face me, but I will
Not look, will not look, for the mirror
Is just now broken. Thank God for that
Small grace! I look for the little dog,
Instead. The lovely little dog, named—
Trey or Blanch?—I can’t remember, I
Don’t recall its name at all. All lost,
Off the shore of Bermuda, the shore.
Trey, Blanch?—I can’t remember. Cages—