Justice

I am finished with all that
measuring: an eye for an eye,
a tooth for a tooth.
Toothless and blind, 
I am going back
to the desert where I lived
a long time ago when rivers
still flowed under my bed.
I take nothing, not even desire--
I have no inheritance
other than hopelessly
unsecured checks and a few
confessions scribbled
between soup recipes:
for years I had wanted
to write a history
of the body, a cycle
of movements, a formation
of undanced ballets in blue
beds.  Still, the bodies
declined, stubbornly
faked the upright walk,
which, like any highwire
act, is useless and so much 
remains unwritten. But I am 
finished with all that
and the desert is cold
and clean and the papers burn
like lovers' bodies, untouchable.