Something may flower once & die, but that’s
Not the way I understand the world. My own belly
Flowers, glowers under an arboretum of quickening
Sea trees when I feed it miscellanea, mitochondria.
No fig’s bigness in my mouth, mascarpone stuffed.
The peachblow, the Recurvata. Organelle gone
Tabulata. 1 man laid me out in a boat, skinned me
Within sight of an Easter sun while down below, low
Below figment calico whales lumined fantastic kelp.
His fingers a fishnet tankle, marginalia scruffed. Each
Catalina a Leavetaking, dove-bridled, 1/2 wolflife.
Nothing but neck curve, a tremendous silver hair
Singing supertumba to my upturned face. Names for
The crooked dead, the wilt lament of each submarined
Breath. At the end of the story come holiness, grief’s
Dozen surnames. A trifling, winched. Gangly psalms.
Kindling retinae, nerviness, diesel splurge an undertow.
Voting with my mouth, sucking air, plucked. To say there
Might be joy in provenance. To say it started here,
Bottomry, bitten. Unreeving. Sudden drool, calliope.
To say it started here, some slender nerving trust.