Octavos

there’s a human loomingover my soup.I buzz and fuss and flapmy mighty wings, wishingI could shock or bite or stingso

I would have returnedmy books—I don’t like fines—but the catslivingin the book dropssmell my fear. Photo by Krysten Merriman from Pexels

Her anatomy, yours to catalogueOn cream paper, in iron gall inkThe soft parts, the harsh truthsEverything becomes oneUnder the botanist’s

When you put your ear up to the daffodil, you swear you can hear the wings of hummingbirds, the call

Though we march together, step after step,Time steals you from me. You glide out softlyFrom memory, like the wording and

Cloned in each test-tube a facsimile of me.I will observe them as they grow to manhood,their hyacinthine eyes, their raven-black

Disciples of the great carp godCaught in an ouroboros whirlpool:A freshwater prayer wheelOf no end and every beginning Photo by Quang

My skin is the edge of a universeSometimes I look out and see the stars of other universesBurning madly, beautiful,

About to plant his kiss,he sees neither the thorn-hookartfully concealedin Sleeping Beauty’s mouth, nor the line snaking backthrough the briarsto

she said she was sorry like she had a choice.the universe smashes her fists into fatetwists the knife our knuckles