The pearl grew inside the coyote's ribcage// he knew only that

something burned when howling// I

stare at his eyes in the mirror

// howl

// howl //

&& god,

something fucking

burns.

Spinning slow/ gentle tilt

I can't capture the exact weave of the lace// only

that something beautiful was left

by someone's hands//

I think our house spiders are more

gentle than we imagine

in their corner webs//

waiting only for what will come to them// moving

when times grow scarce

in the kitchen.

I think, sometimes,

what it would be like

to love everyone our lovers ever have//

once you brushed her curls// now

I smile for you having held them

//it's theoretical, of course//

don't we all fell one another

with our wells of jealousy.

But if we were hand-in-hand entwined

like that// wouldn't

we have the world?

i

i

cut off parts of my own spine//

letting it all loose.

i left them behind && i

fetched them back in dreams//

//slowly// .

piece by burning piece.

&& my lover measured me up by the firelight:

unclean beast tumbling from my collarbones forward//

embers

in every freckle// soot

in every freckle// scars

in every freckle.

how do you learn that.

how do you feel your gentle inside

&& be told you are // in fact// sharded

glass.

how do you touch your own skin

without feeling the great amounts of space the night sky carries above its

massive elbows//

the kind of space you felt most clearly//

as a child.

(take a second & call that sensation back)

Consider: roots. Think anchor, ground

trees whisper:: no, mouth.

.

What ever // would that mean?

Put roots down: drink, feast. Find what you will

devour

&

sink into it.

Taste gently//

send taproot

for the heart.

[featherfisted// up to

the shoulderblades]

she says/ in

rosegasp & satin// into the eiderdown:

//

{after that ungodly space of silence}

//

"i want to wonder, again,

what it's like//

making love to angels."

There is a line of light running

through the sun. Have you contemplated

the bend in your knees

lately?

We are in the

afterautumn, which has

coyote eyes & a frostbitten crinoline

mouth. The cat

scrambles up wooden fences/

clawclatter & thickened fur

& graylined eyes.

I sink

into plaid

recoup the taste of honey

in the back of my mouth/ in the depths

of tea, unstirred

& you mix & mix

with your tongue

searching

for where the sweet

has gone.

I hold the doorframes/

I can't articulate

why it feels like earthquakes.

For heaven's door//

resting your head against it// has it

closed another time// how does one

recoup the taste of honey

in these ugly shaded days// I thought

it was

just behind your lips, but you

close them

in the quietest crescendo

we have seen yet// I weep

in many colors// vermillion

has forgotten its particular shade//

a hip curves

in sorrow//everything feels too cold

these days.