Nascent, sage, gulfs of air
The dancers emerge over the salt flats
what they know they have in hand, they love
the human room, its basket of apples
histories waft in, grafted
in the moment to a ray of skin
"into the open well of centuries"
fly bodies cupping wreck and wear
break upward to feel, green wings flee
heavy slips free, slit and cross-press
what isn't blessed, fresh-running
surrounded or not
torque release plot
the dancer folds suspended
there alone, half-known
The Newlyweds Climb a Fence
After the light and the chandelier scraping,
the double-star making, it's hard to face
the red carpet, the casuistry show,
the vacuuming and dusting, the unquiet eye.
Do I wish I could give you "a bath of gold apples"
or "all the songs that sleep in history?" Maybe
this slant alternative is better-plucking lashes
from a winter magazine, little Domestic
winks, if we want, like Italian frames.
Night boats might ferry us further my friend.
Between our ribs, negatives of future architectures,
textures mind-nestled in flesh splinter-tender.
Let the bog-dwellers dream of American cars,
however grateful for "the Woman and the Dog."
We praise them all and drink our grape juices.