Sister, I am in ten pieces ten miles
apart: a cricket sleeps in one fist;
my penis snuggles with slugs under
the mandrake screen; my knees repeat one

struggling word along the sandbar;
tree-moss braids my crawling hair;
and this tongue — a succulent, fallen leaf.
If you step into a trap of clean ribs

and one breaks loose, take it for a wand
and dowse until you find the cloudy spring
that gives back my true face.

Crush pokeberries in your palms,
since they yield the color you love your
most in; come rub my cheeks and lips
with your moist earth sign. Love my days

since I recreate yours in kind: I love
how your sense brings you out into the rain
to shimmer with the grass, the trees and
long hills.
Tomorrow I will show you a lizard’s

washed clean, and a mushroom as impure a
as heaven: its milk is indigo, bruising
slowly green; it will nourish us, both sky
and sea.

That wild patch of wolf hair at the root
of your waving spine, that platypus
in your crotch, part waterbird, part bright
— what are these animals you stand for?

You came to me first walking invisible
beneath a green dress, your hair crouching
behind your head. Playing for you I held my
like a blowgun. And this spill of hair

on my chest, I wonder what pelt it may be—
while you sleep I whisper its fables.
you turn on me: what is this breath of fire?