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