Maybe I am

in love with you

or maybe

I am really

a piece of grass

in love with the rain.

It’s true:

when I’m thirsty

and I let water

thin across my lips

I feel some

kind of way.

Uproot a hair

from my chest.

the drop of pain

Says either way

I have a body

that is mine

for as long

as I am

too scared

to share it.

The Art of Listening

Shifting virus, blood to heart

To head, pinned on salt-damp cotton,

melismatic trance gone inevitably flat,

I could never sing to her

anyway--lungs must have known

we were held together

like breath. But oh how I spoke,

pithy declamations of desire

murmured into the evening’s mouth.

Haven’t you ever underwritten

action with words? Haven’t you

prayed to own a feeling

borrowed from the spring

of tender filth upon which

you and everything float,

sprinkled in supplication

over your upturned face?

Haven’t you ever wanted

anything?