Several inches above the topography
of twisted sheets, I levitate—
pistachio green, a mouth-full of pine
needles and orange peel fungus.
Salt water and wolfbane stews
in the cochlea of my left ear until I tug
that earlobe down, feeling the warm
drip down my neck. I live in the wake
of beauty, tripping over the filament
of someone else’s fur, their shining black eyes
and smoky breathing. So fertile.
Beneath the elastic of skin, chlorophyll pounds
my bones, yellow and daffodil-honeysuckle,
choking eyes from my skull.
I can’t remember the names
of the plates that make up a human skull.
This is what the lake might feel
when it evaporates beneath the sun
floating in clouds.