The Night is a Slit
throat. everyone is dangling:
I want to repack
all my letters in bigger letters
so that you have to undo them
twice. The morning is a lung
expanding. Everyone is limping.
Let me shrug you a new evening.
If I were a cantaloupe I'd cut myself
into your morning. If I were a forest
I'd pull back your shadows and store them
in my carriage. If I were a linen-cage
I'd hold you until my body became an ear
and yours a flailing tongue.