WEBVTT

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This is a poem
called "Your Mouth."

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Your mouth is a flower
that wants to help me.

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Your mouth is a
garden in Arabia.

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It is raining.

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I enter the mountain under
cheekbones like glaciers.

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Your mouth is an old woman
weaving the same blanket.

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Your mouth sits
in the sun dozing,

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but the fingers of
your mouth weave.

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Birds migrate inside your mouth.

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When the birds reach
the south plain,

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they are under the mountain.

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They waken the old woman who
feeds them the crumb of a yarn.

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Arabia, Arabia, Arabia, and
she weaves the flower mountain

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all summer.

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