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.