there is no body like the present

no moment of sinew, grain, or wetness
that is unbeautiful or reaching,
unwanted

in everything, there is skin

stretched like the ocean,
tender to its fullness
below

even in
the shadows
of a
retching
fog,

there is silence

and there is the body,
singing

[ ]

a prayer, like gravity, is an exhalation

impress upon the skin
and like a memory the inner organs
sing

at first, endlessly
and then clotted

[ ]

obliteration
bliss
emergency

[ ]

at first
there was nothing to hide the shape
of fear
bulbous and bitten and holy
from the pain of it
shivering from the sheen of it

at first, before
the pelvis knew to widen
the skin soften, girlish
there was a child
then, too
teething

there have always been children
in the way that
there was always you

[ ]

today
next week
last month
a year since
cycle day 12
36 hours after trigger
the first 100 days
10^-43 seconds

[ A STORY ]

a child without water
a village heaving

alone, she sets out
bearing empty vessels

with the hope of
returning them filled

for so long, nothing
for so long, only a sour emptiness

and he she begins to forget
begins to forget

the names for water
the name for vessel

forgets his name
forgets she is a child

for so long, there is
only forever, and then

water

at first,
a cruel and metallic joke

wicked bubble of ferment
trapping her imagination

but no, real
sweet and perfect and real

too fast filling his cheeks bursting
like a tiny star real

every memory and no memory at all
real

her hands now water
mouth water

she he carries the life
of her village inside

carries his mother’s bliss
her open wet eyes

even as it begins to drip
and dissolve in the heat

even as his feet crumble
dying into the patient earth

even as her breath becomes
thick and still

he carries the life
of her village inside

and as the child
who is no longer a child

gives the last of his remaining
water, which is no longer his mouth

no longer her hands
the trail behind her blooms

rings like a constellation
rings forever

metal and cherub
a finger pointing to life

[ ]

a grip of entanglements
a fantasy of missing parts
a windfall of lonelinesses
a crush of misdirections
a clot of early notices
a fever of deprivations
a bill of rights
a stillness of addictions
a fell of stars
a blush of nothing

it pools like a baby
sees, time and sky
a wash, its head
drooping

[ ]

but before all that
before this,

when, the breath
too slow hot and close
to be caught

thickens

when, in the impossible spiral fascia
the word for burst
appears

and as soon dissolves
waiting as a wave

[ ]

obliteration
bliss
emergency

[ ]

the way the bird

bursting at its seams

like a tiny star

loves perfectly

the chase of seeds

clattering on the sidewalk

winded

porcelain

is one way
to describe

the breath of flowers
caught dead

loving.

in this life
i make promises to myself

share them with my
every darkness

celadon
ink

and the rush of traffic
flows – there is

looking
in every direction

setting
into rock and sun sand,

molting
toward the ocean.

at the center
of the universe, known

there is you

– you
and the shimmer of birds

traveling.

at the center
of every life,

there is the cold wind
tasting,

lapping us up
like tea,

like nothing

in every life,
i love you

and we never dry out,
fogging our own

insides with dandelion,
tulsi and ginger,

steamed.

rope
chain
draw
the
water
down,

gravity

sends sex
and supper, supine
in the dark.

line and
no line, lie and
no lie,

half-halo wrapped
around the
neck like
drip,
drip

like the sweetness of water like

drip.

splayed on your bed
hips like lambs’ horns

you were all paper and veins,
teething everywhere
flush with want-nothing.

maybe they wanted to go somewhere,
those hips,
wrap themselves around your waist
until you folded out of yourself
until you opened up

like well water.

i often wonder what might have happened if,
at that moment,

god showed herself to you
and smiled:

your life does not have to be
a delicious, sticky sweet secret.

not once
has happiness
fallen from me

boy blooms into
nothing

silvers through
the grass like

nothing, then
shifts the weight

so slight
the shoulders thin

paper on a corner
folded