his bodied,
from-all-the-four-corners need did not
deceive him, if his gaze straightened
and he made it back to the world he’d made
her from—if she’d let herself be
bargained,
bodied—
an empty
aerie, wind among trees.
Daphne Digging In
Tarnish-scent
of times
skin
felt tight
and touch-shy,
the many
buds of my body ready
to break
under hot breath.
Rustling, heat-steeping—
this movement always
outward
so slow
it can’t be seen.
I could be swift as riverwater
or still as ground,
and yet the feeling
that all my daily turnings
were toward a center
I could not cull,
deeper into a self and a shell
I’d always felt but not felt flesh.
Pliant in the never-still,
susurrus as a mind that stirs
spent wings. How climbingly
the heartwood fills.
Can silence
be heard inside
such swayings,
rapturous from a root? Bright,
a high singing in extremities,
taking me elastic,
weightless,
wider, the clearest
chartreuse
rinsing like a gaze.
Adam’s Excuse
Every plant poised
at the point of its own
opening—petals
folded like mouse-ears
downy and thinly fleshed,
fruit hard with un-loosened juice,
every animal’s eyes shallow
with un-narrowed light—
I remember the world
was new but also
unyielding. I started
performing minor
surgeries, testing
how my teeth broke skin,
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