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.