you wear calla lily, i rose. 
one spiral among the lush 
of your hair makes me cry 

and it is difficult to stop crying 
at any point after that 
because i am split open 

by the way God makes the soft 
breeze touch my face 
like a mother. 

our shelled brothers deign, 
for once, to dance. 

neither of us believe in 
being in love, a net 
that falls over your body 
and brings you to the sweet
smelling ground of your spirit.

but dusk lasts hours.

frogs sing the song we wrote
the week we met.
we were tentative limbs
of a desperate band.

we were almost runts.
maybe there was a net.

maybe i am a fish after
all, a shiny brainless magic.

but let me stay human
for a second here.

God makes the soft.

your hair makes me cry.

spiral among the lush.

firefly and chantilly.