(no subject)
rose, perpendicularly, my ankles urgent
between the trees leading to asilomar, heavy
brady's hives, but something more. your fingers.
rose. snapping twigs, pathward, updrafting
falcon lofting above, horizontally
and following himself up red. rose --
i've got the corners of your pages folded
beneath my fingernails, blood
oranges, deep voodoo and peace. american
beauty. stumbling, rose, stirred into myself,
a word who won't repeat herself. arrived,
i shudder the spray, lessons lessened,
my toes applauding the rocks, my arms wide
as a saint. above and beneath, god swims
strongly, rose, and where we have rusted, and
vertically. and me, too: brady's bees quiet
now, a wake of trees and gardens left us.
away i am, but please listen, rose: i grow watery
and i grow weak, my sight unseen, even
dappled sunlight waning. i grow seldom,
rose, beside you like this but never intersecting.