A Coward's Grief

Would that I were water,
to slip through eager fingers.

Would that I were stone,
with no heart that feels pity,
no habit of kindness.

Would that I were a bird,
a lizard, a worm, a fish,
to run away and hide
from your hopeful voice,
avoiding more lies of omission.

Would that I were anyone but me,
standing at the edge
of the gulf
that you continue to deny.

Would that I were. . .
would that I . . .

Would that I could be seen
as who I am,
so that you would stop loving me.