Eau

Our ladies of skin
dance in themselves
our ladies of flesh
wove and kindred
our ladies of the selves
of the selvas
of vegetation
of green where
shining jungle flowers
fall a sleep at night

steam rises from
brush and streams
tiny capillaries of water
roll off glossed
vert leaves

and the rumbling of frogs
and the hissing fogs
and the birds rustling
plumage and foliage
rubbing branches and
backs, bird backs
branches brush brush
brush—bakaw,
baakaawww
and the rose and
falled calling

Moon-logging and Dreams of Solar Luminosity

Some while it's been so welcome back if you were away or went away because I went away but now the coldest part is over so we can all sweat and melt a little and become real people again, rather than dimmer versions of ourselves.

Parallax

I.
In the beginning
god created
all things

the egg came
before the chicken
and he hung

the sliming yellow
yolk in the sky
called it day,

then splattered the whites
across a vast blackness.
dripping moon
and stars made night.

globular clusters,
a dipper-full of
dark matter.

black holes devour,
vacuum light

II.

morning approaches,
the geocentrics stir.
a pale slice of stale

smelling light,
the refrigerator door’s
ajar.

night again,
a twilight weak
and momentary

the helicopter
searchlight hovers
like day is trying ,
peeking through shifting
pinholes in the sky.

the moon wants,
the stars choke dimly,
tall steel reaches
upward to smother them.

evening traffic
honks and hums.