Twenty-three.

Last night I dreamed that you spoke to me about finches,
and I was surrounded by pretty blonde girls
who all wanted me to explain you. I woke up
to find you screaming at yourself for not knowing,
but what am I supposed to do? Forgiveness?
Forgiveness isn't a switch on the wall or a drink
to be poured down a throat. In my dream,
there was a tornado and I tried to leap into the ocean.
I am not coming back.