let the wind take care of it 

crack the door, a window, let the air crack
            open the books stacked & strewn, too many
to read in the clutter of one life,

let blast into the burnt expanse of forest
            in my mind: each day the mirror
                      invites me beyond the need

                                         to be liked, into noticing:
            slopes of collarbone, bowl of pelvis,
what i am being moved toward: an image

of myself, running      out the car and toward
            the singed trees, smell of gasoline
                      faint but clinging—

pluck a softness

i am belly up beneath the dogwood plucking petals
when night comes out sprawls out beside me

they say, if you want a name
i have a fissure

night knows i long for a new name
night’s pronouns are they/them

i nod                     we toss
            voices in familiar lilt &
                      scatter

they say, you are swooned by seeming ground
what is beneath that?

i glue stamen to stigma
pollen’s lip-lock untethered
                botany of another wish
                                          to-have    to-do
                                the shattering into

                                                                                  once upon a time
                                                    in an alley, city gave night their quiet back
                                                    at what cost i do not ask

night is matter of fact: no matter
how much salt
is in your head            you still have
a body