A bone fragment, simply
In that first splendour
a poem is simple
it could be about food
it could be about the sky
it could be about two nations
It could be about two fertilized eggs divided decades apart
but I digress
it could be about you
fingers ink the dark map of the world and we pencil in the rain
A poem is simple
it could be about disappearance
it could be about grief
it could be about remembering
it could be about death and birthing
but I digress
it could be about you
sentences river as long as the curve of your index finger
A poem is simple
it could be about entering the world through violence
it could be about exiting language with reluctance
it could be about living between offer and relinquishment
but I digress
it could be about you
the bitten smile of the sky’s dark morning eyes made slender by touch
This poem is simple
It surrenders over bright things in the distance
its heart tumbles down the ridge of a canyon
its promises dampen as the trunk’s cambium
but I digress from this stammering cacophony
the rhyme between our backs breaking into kiss on a bus
the essence goes unnoticed
in fact
stretching in the morning toward the green hills tongued by fox and fog
in that first splendour and finesse
the world within the world
the joinery and the suppression
the accuracy of suspicion in a word's fineness
and all came clacking
and the poem unravelled and disseminated
the seminal and the semen in the poem
was you
