You hover in a space

where shade is bright.

Where cuts in heaving land

pour forth

their worm-spun miracles

and water unencumbered

spells your name.

A path flung to the sky

like a rope on fire.

Two forms in a bag

two solemn magnets

teething.  Lips aglow

with paintings of nobody's frame.

Torsos in a glass

whose fragrant ways

ascend to laughter

loins on fire in heaven

with nobody's name.