Like an ermine looping through the snow, mouth a pink line,
I’m suited for my habitat. I disappear into the white drift
and blue tint of a petticoat as easily as I suit up into slim
trousers, breasts bound and hair slicked.
I have been an angel. I have been a dog. I have been most
of the high notes in a choir, and once I was even
the clicking sound in your jaw in the morning. I’m versatile.
I’m a dream of a man if a man was a woman and
if that woman had a dream of stepping out of the dark forest
at night and walking to the lake’s edge
and the moons, one in the sky, one in the water,
were the same as she remembered from when she was young
and every gesture was her own and no one else’s.
Then someone called her name, and she stepped
into that name and ever since I’ve had all manner of roles,
none of them as strange as this one.