i am eerie with lights—
to raise a hand, turn away
from angels as visited boy-prophets;
swarm-patterns, cramped abortions
of paper lanterns, or the dubious
fur-trap of northern lights,
undulating like shipwrecks.
my silk across breast, belly, hips
like the tongue of a bear
for deep honey.
columns, civil and rising as horse-blood,
uncupping burning-glass. we are
terrible projections, startled out of our skin
like saplings in blossom.
printed, written upon as sinai
tablets, brought down from before
a bramble geyser, god unfurling
like steps to a temple—stricken
with heat glyphs, an exhausted
kimono tongue.
i crinkle with
monarch newness.
dryspell of skin sliding
from bone, on the streets
of southern california cities, we claw
through silk like flashfloods
through the pink sandstone
of old-ocean canyon.
the lights return,
it is always the women,
twenty-five in all.
our bones rattle
like alms.
