It is not good to think br of everything as a mistake. I asked br for bacon in my sandwich, and then br br I asked for more. Mistake. br I told you the truth about my scar: br br I did not use a knife. I lied br about what he did to my faith br in loneliness. Both mistakes. br br That there is always a you. Mistake. br Faith in loneliness, my mother proclaimed, br br is faith in self. My instinct, a poor polaris. br Not a mistake is the blue boredom br of a summer lake. O mud, sun, and algae! br br We swim in glittering murk. br I tread, you tread. There are children br br testing the deep end, shriek and stroke, br the lifeguard perilously close to diving. br I tried diving once. I dove like a brick. br br It was a mistake to ask the $30 prophet br for a $20 prophecy. A mistake to believe. br br I was young and broke. I swam br in a stolen reservoir then, not even a lake. br Her prophesy: from my vagrant exertion br br I'll die at 42. Our dog totters across the lake, br kicks the ripple. I tread, you tread. br br What does it even mean to write a poem? br It means today br I'm correcting my mistakes. br It means I don't want to be lonely.