Wednesday, September 5, 2012

To watch your body make language of the air

To watch your body make language of the air
in the sure sublimity of Sunrise over the thick
and foggy Louisiana morning. You're revealed
to me in the songs of frogs, in the ways my body

grows and moves when it hears you. I prostrate
myself on the curves of your sphere, the curves of your
revolving planet in a dance. I am eating
the breeze that holds your fragrance, peeling petals

from roses in the morning. You're the object
I've realized through my poetry, the resplendent idea
I've muttered on my tongue for centuries

and wandered the four corners for. These signs
move in the heavens and begin to articulate
your mysteries like a script engenders words.

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