.....

When she first clapped eyes on a light field (say a button) a vanishing art
down in britches and boots the long, curving collarbones,
compressed air, and fresh breath, blood, urine and saliva
a clock with hands of clouds and gilded shell forms,
crystals suspended in magnetosphere's eggplant living room

all leaks, stand in our safelight
leaf through tiny lilacs and dahlias,
layers of plants and animals
to paint its walls black glaze with her decorator

no drunkenness, no rapture
no one knows what makes it red

a light trap burned up in the day
clicks to give him a precise voice, a birdcall