January 2009

I imagine you're like a ship of folded paper
carrying figs from Italy to Iowa
in a gutter on fire graceful bobbing
never burning just singed with age
Under scrutiny, like that Declaration
Democracy worships

I imagine you rubbing coconut sunscreen
on my dismembered wings
sunflower stalks on shoulder blades
You making skipping stone nirvana
in your golden grasp
Clasping your tree branch hand
canceling schools of thought and you
courting a high priestess

It is all make believe
maybe a mistake
but romantic
like burning at stake