some bodies look
hand-crafted
with such an intensity of love

it burns my view of the world
(which inhabits my body)
down to one glazed eye

staring at a wound in the sky
and inhabiting that gash
like something looking back
with its own whole body

the lips of the wound calmly open
huge globs of yellow paint
rain down like punctured hot-air balloons

splattering sad pavement
making the landscape of the eye
live again

blotting the lines on the lot
where we park our restless deaths
every day

& walk out of our hulking bodies
like birds on crutches
a series of wounds inhabiting a larger wound