The curved fingers of a bunch of bananas
fill up the brown bag that she is carrying
through the spring air. I hear the sultana
singing lullabies, biting into strawberries
and licking her lips. The blue jay has buried
its nest deep in the vines, a quiet beer
smell fills the room subtly. On the ferry
across the river she asked if she could steer
a vessel through the air like birds. So near
to my poor heart I hold her, the old drugs
and diagnoses fail us. I've seen the seer
meditate on the mountain, sit on the rugs
and become the first fruit. Through each part
of her body I become confused by art.
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