Body

drooped
in August light

thought light
would break me open— but

blossoms. Birds
splice air into air.

That petal
through streetlight
looks like buttermilk
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Untitled

Violets soft
beneath my hands

I want to be
some velvet thing

when I was young
I might have been
a flower

might have thought
bodies were bells

we shape to hold
more bodies, not

meat melting over
screwy bones

some people are flowers
we rend and want
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Trace

how days fold over
& you were happy

to see
or tell me

anything
leaning

in spaces between
want and not

wanting; still
I feel easy
kitchen dancing

in your apartment,
looking at you
and not the lens

and later
before I leave
when afternoon
cleaves

in orange across
the wall, you call

me in to see
some light
like it’s the only