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The street was carved with pools
of silverblue scales
when I went out to see you
that dislocated morning
burned the study of my body
into the weight of the planets
making my way under the wires
never for a moment a nomad

always threading
through low smalltown airports
with infant fingers on a clunky firearm
smiling into a jacket
you halved me on your doorstep
stained teeth with eyes and eyes with teeth
satisfied by banisters of nightshadow
plunging waxed, coffeecup Niagara

footpath through the desk and miniature
pines and paths of ginger cloves
where something generations forward
soothed its insides to the outside and died there
the bright seeing of fingers in sucking clefts
of treebark, gelatin gardens

masked by the old appearances
you and I shared a meat branch
frail yards above the campfire, joking
at the snuff of our one root in the network
humbling in waves what lust once raced
through city keyboards
laid out among the grim astonishing towers

went through the eyes of terror forward
lenses smoothed round by the occurring wind
people under a dome call it spiritual fire
from the hearth where I walked out sparrowing
my way to spore-flecked poles and planes hiding my power
writing my love of women into sevens
blunt fingers playing jukebox and water
for the name of all disintegrating smoke

you reach through all your arches to touch
my head like a cut third of melon seeds
rushing time ahead to an anesthetized meteor
shower with the woman I wait for
to come and stop me from speaking
my life into blossom of ashes
stem still there
in the white green of your face
a stardeath, a pothole, an infant.