"Poem for a Bark Scorpion.."
Threader of quasi-tentacular horrors,
neither reticulate nor fanged.
Just an unopposed claw to steady a friend
and lower a push pin into easy conversation.
I palm you in a dream to study that phantom lime
spittle of what's awake for not much longer.
Your cantilevered strike-- almost feathery,
almost childish, dawdling, or snaky from behind,
listing the sting in.
But it's your mummy cloth, holding a warm stranger still,
that brings me up in the night.
[APPLAUSE]