If I Am Not Who I Thought I Was I would not catch the bus to Manhattan. I would un-bake the bread, unbraid my hair. You and I could sail a patched raft to Alaska. If I fell off, a humpback would save me. If I slept till tomorrow, you would lie down beside me. When enough days had passed, you would pull me to shore by my wrist, the night so quiet, we could hear the stars ringing.
