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