With knees foam-sheathed
she pins the brown soil
unwilling body of earth
until sundown it’s hers
the grandmother, mother, widow
whisperer to the world
beneath her, families
of spiders scurry and ants
dance for the priestess
snipping carmine planets
from their sky that hit the surface exploded
petals crushed between
her sandalled toes
rose jam boiling in the air
she continues her ruthless work
for thankless generations
He disturbs the bed super-imposing crumpled sheets like a mistake left on a page, proof of impatience with a hunger for lead or an artist’s tongue to draw a line, on hips virile brackets to exist with
Rain comes eliminating the sky with glass shards falling down to make heads bow melting my clothes into cold outlines limits of my skin exposed forcing me to exist and witness entranced like the first
Yours is a precision arm a reach which could make spines forget legs or left forget right tongue forget tongue your screen unlocked head bowed in prayer private and away your face a mask of orange neo