WEBVTT

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"Chrestomathies of
Omecihuatl, Giver of Life."

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When lovers gaze through water
and know the shape of duration,

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why does mine perfection press
between my shoulder blades

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as a stare?

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The pen, a trading eye casts
the hours, shadow, form,

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and identity.

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Shattered desire
to presence dooms

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with winds shaping broken
figures out of sand.

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Spring-budged chill
and early-April frost.

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When I press my finger into
the world beneath the grass,

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why am I other in winter's ash?

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Beneath the clavicles narrow,
we loam and rake tumors

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to language, self of shadow.

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In love, we live laced in
other voice, hem and seam.

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You told me to pour water
until the aster overflows.

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Soil spilled onto the floor.

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I cannot keep.

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I cannot will this lovely grid.

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Your compass hollow
where my belly splinters.

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Meager, incarcerate dawns
will us, as hand to hammer,

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our gesture, a
forge whose tongues

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translate scarlet joys out
of blood, out of poppy,

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of each other.

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We speak bodies whole."

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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