I need to take the top off one more time. 

(“What top?”)

The top of me. 

                —for Ryann Wahl


She took the skin off the rock. Sat up

from sunbathing to watch a man running sideways


her hair soft lighter fluid

I know there is no love there 

in the careful observation


a violet fog rolling up past her calves

she bites her wrist-vein, quicksilver, brings

it to the mouth of the grass


void me, void me

the steepness of breath inside 

I know this glass body

diamond bone

it is mine; also, yours; ours,

I recognize it all


You caught the bright in your center

You clot the finite in your 


painted nails. So temporary. Silk

eyelashes, will you watch for me


— 


In a sheet tent, here is the flashlight


divine hair of your sister cut 

into kidney-shapes


Two hearts in hot ringlets


Here in this humid orchestra 

she plays with her fingers:

rabbit shadow-puppets

in between knuckle-webbing the smell

of apple cores


you both should be rising 

and twinkling against the cotton


should be braiding the pulp

of your leftover tea


why is no one moving

is this the silhouette of a burial

or are we still swimming

in the lake beside Pennsylvania