morning song
Of meat and flowers I sing
Butchers and gardeners:
When aware of the body's process
The long journey into red night
The unfamiliar pounding that may cease at any moment
Drift off into the night full of sounds
Tickings and murmers, whispers and gurglings.
When my mouth
Open against the open world of you
Into the darkness of rosepetals
Continents against white continents
Shudder in perspective
When the curtains are drawn
And you blossom into morning
Eyes unveiled from sleep flower-beds thrown back
White lilies against your hair's vine-leaves
I will rise and moisten the warm wet soil
To perfection;
Of meat and flowers I sing
Butchers and gardeners:
Songs thrown bleeding onto counters
Reaching up to the sun through city backyards.
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