I saw the moon
in sand, ran away, lost in the redwood
forest of Sonoma, used my hair
as a pillow, followed a lonely dream.

When I was 26, I found a sea turtle
shell in the forbidden woods
of Hunting Island. I found courage.

When I was 26, I touched the stage,
palm flat, awe in my heart.
Near and far, near and far.
Yes, Carol Ann, I hear you.

When I was 26, a silk skirt
held me close, a strike through,
an unfamiliar mouth with unfamiliar lips,
a wish on wild feathers.

When I was 26, Angela became translucent
like stained glass in an abandoned
chapel, like a ghost, like cataracts.

When I was 26, I felt, I swam.
I beamed, braved, held my heart
in my hands like an urchin.