This is by Priscilla Becker. You can buy her book, Internal West, here.
I think I prefer now being unloved
and listening for my footsteps in the dark.
There was a tree in the yard –
not any more –
whose crooked branch I’d watch.
I held a ceremony in which I married
my black dog.
There is a certain smell
that overtakes me, for instance
once, in a button shop.
And then I came to disregard.
Also a kind of nakedness
that has to do with words.
I made a list
of things I’d like. I tied
a string. The sound as when your foot
breaks through the snow,
that sound was in the house.