The sun is roosting on the other side

of the world.


I am greedy scoops of air, sheer webbing

in a halo of sound.


My jaws open and the world tunnels out. Each

syllable strikes


a thimble of dark matter, which replies,

Here I am.


Even the stars have an odor.

The moon


is overripe, and each animal body

is curled in the outline


of its den. Terrain pulses with sleep.

My desert tree,


great armoire built of glances,

stiff hide of water.


I can hear her blooming. I can hear

her dreaming


of me, the bell of my body singing.

She is close,


she is wearing the sound of my voice.

Polyps of fruit


substantiated in the prism of my mouth.

I will seed the night with eyes.