Underneath your feet
The road’s dynamo
Of white butterflies
Electrocuting bleak isles
Where women of the sea
Treaded on velvet, machetes
Here, my people
Emerged from a poppy
Wingless yet in flight
There, a shadowy mountain
As if the star’s saddle
Beneath the winepress night
Grinding their moon into quartz
Here, my eyes’ net
Of maritime days and
A dove asleep
As if the earth at twilight
That adores
Our little bees
Seeping, seizing, sieging:
From the honeyed pubis
Beyond, nights
Go on drowning each other
And the sky is
Overburdened with dreams
On your lips a crane dies
The paper crane is born in my palm
Here, winter climaxing on spring
And stars chasing
One another for crystal-laughter