That same day—the guilty / warmth. Then the waiting—

and all the cave mouths sparkling / with firelight, the cities alive with sirens / and grief.

when my body / hangs from yours / like a shot down goose

It’s about yearning, it’s about words / and the spaces between words.

the sound / of this much water, passing

the cover draped across the bed, / rows of fabric I had pieced together, / small imperfect stars. I believed / in the seam our bodies made

I am somewhere / around the age of a cloud & still we grow older.

That’s what became of her when she went out / looking—a lesson as easy to identify / as the long lines of the eel among any other species.

The important history / would be of silences

Your body a whole day, long, getting / longer, falling through the inner / distance

dream a flock of starlings between / my legs. Are you the shifting mass / or am I?

In life goes, / and out, air to the chest’s throne. / Her ribs shape not a cage but a fence.

In you, the autumn's knowing ardor holds / The gold and amber lying at its root.

I have felt / her fist / stay strong / in my ribs, / known it / was love

clues I can be what you need / me to be: water-rich, able / to sustain your breathing.

Tell him how sails resemble angel wings, / but show him the danger of sailing

She is fertile with water. She is ripe with god and sea oats.

how he came to be oppressed or granted / free range as if dominion wasn't his to begin with

morning is ripe with new springs popping / down the mountainside, streaking it with thaw.