I fell for my husband
like a suicide from the Golden Gate Bridge.
It wasn't a great marriage.
When he held me,
pleasure ripped across the surface of my face.
A convention of seagulls
told me to scavenge for a key.
From there, everything snowballed.
I discovered the mathematics of randomness.
Zeros and ones
like flowers, candles, and photographs
framed in red cinnamon hearts.
Amid fire, these ones
occupied a street corner. I drew three cards,
which is how I met him.
My eyes shone topaz. I tasted help
in his emergency numbers.
He showed me how to eat the moon
and came back in a few minutes
with a warm pair of gloves.