Body

drooped
in August light

thought light
would break me open— but

blossoms. Birds
splice air into air.

That petal
through streetlight
looks like buttermilk

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Violets soft
beneath my hands

I want to be
some velvet thing

when I was young
I might have been
a flower

might have thought
bodies were bells

we shape to hold
more bodies, not

meat melting over
screwy bones

some people are flowers
we rend and want

Trace

how days fold over
& you were happy

to see
or tell me

anything
leaning

in spaces between
want and not

wanting; still
I feel easy
kitchen dancing

in your apartment,
looking at you
and not the lens

and later
before I leave
when afternoon
cleaves

in orange across
the wall, you call

me in to see
some light
like it’s the only