These are my secrets. And these are my other secrets.

I have one thousand scarves.

I want to be a rodeo rider.

I bury my tea leaves.

I am hybridizing a red rose with a redder rose.

Once I fell in love with an assassin,

which would have been all right,

except I hated how his skin smelled of knives.

My volumes of piano etudes, sonatas, nocturnes,

preludes, fugues, variations on a theme, 

scherzos, valses, and concertos,

stacked one upon the other,

would total four feet seven inches high,

although the volumes are dispersed to several locations,

and some are hidden even from myself.

I play the piano every afternoon from four to five,

and afterward drink a cup of mint tea

and eat a single piece of almond shortbread.

I am growing an almond tree. I scent my environs

with almond oil.

I sometimes dream that my children are friendly 

with dangerous animals.

Today I met with a student who smelled of candy and flowers.

Once I picked squash beetles from my plants by hand.

Once, I lived in a village where the migrating butterflies

covered the shrubberies, the walks, the pavement.

In my heart of hearts, I am judging you, 

but only as practice for when I become a judge.

In my heart of hearts, I judge myself, 

but only as practice for when,

in my heart of hearts, I judge myself.

Primary are the colors of all the walls 

of my proto-crypto dream house.