Untitled (2)
It
troubles me that water is colorless air is tasteless the hymen is without tears.
The
tenderness of thorns their perpetual renewal Wounds me: The neighing of extinct
beasts in my blood The scream of demons dead under the trees of remote shores.
I lay my rough palms over a man's foot a passing stranger And bless my children
coming forth with the wind Penetrating through time.