The very last gigantic

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.