Step closer. Let me whisper like feathered
pigments the lyre of my knuckles, the earth
of my hair. Plums, olives, starfish, the crests
of canaries on my breath, in my skin.
Trace the shell pock of my cheek, the fuchsia
blossom bruised blush just below my helmet’s
brim. Trace the weather, the charge of lightning.
the sea fog that hides men. Trace the apple
Taste on my temple like one grain
of sea salt tongue tip placed the whole marble
world chisel changed: its owl calls, its heft:
the spin and weave of long-legged wind: blue skies
perplexed by cocks and crows and ivory.