I awake to sun w/a woman’s lips
& eyebrows, cheeks rouged by her
own heat, while I am now trunk
for torso, branches for legs, leaf
clusters for mammal hair.

There is a nest right by my ears
where nestlings whisper to me
as they sit on the blue shards
they’ve just made
by breaking free.  

And I see over the hills where
rabbits gallop—each runs
in a cellophane spangle that
crinkles candy red or cornflower
or sweet violet.

I make the journey with them on
branch-legs, rustling w/an older green,
robins in my ears, having released
my various facades to the sun,
mayshesavorthemeveryone.

Now I rush w/rabbits, always
just behind them—I swear
they have wings that
outrun childhood.