From the beautiful month of your birth

I look to the sky for signs

that the waves of deeply layered

forests will bring us together,

that the semblance of sacred stone

in the chinks of our vertebrae

will vibrate in delirious tandem,

that the fettered bark of growing trees

interlinks and knows.

From the bleachers in a cloud

that look upon a faint ethereal auditorium

I am eating peanuts in the gravy of the air

and I am betting on your lips,

your sweetly braided hair,

your tiny rebellious chin,

the set of your eyes

on my dedicated gravestone,

your climax's taste for laughter.

Let me climb into the mischief

of your ancestral curve,

be my shell's grain of sand,

my quiet reminder,

the gaze of many women

on this thousandfold man

bisected by a grand piano.

Let groans of love multiply like stairs

(no matter where they go in the grand meander)

forge between two

the weightlessness of monumental chains.