I.
firm, calloused with adventure,
brown and pink, muscled and silly,
the femininity you finally found.
the ball is always so tense. your
cute, powerful wedges, keeping you up,
meeting the earth with the recklessness of love.
the tapping of tight tendons as I push
into the density you walk. the smooth, convex
curve down from your ankle. it is calculated,
carefully considered, like you give gifts.
there is no brighter sun.

II.
light, small, soft
pliable, cohesive, self-certain
the arch defined but not severe,
(like you think you always are),
a shape like your self, something
you have always protected,
hidden, kept inside, kept from
the rough of the outside.
granted, you can kick
(and dance!) just fine.
each precious, slender digit
lays against the next
like new bushes
in a family garden,
sparse but friendly,
known and touching.
connected. and to me, as
I press and roll you around.
you taught me that someone
might like having their
ankle rubbed. I didn't even know.

stuck between panes of glass
  cared for, no smudges,
  only a small gathering of dust

the light comes in behind me all day
  for you, soft rays, magnified past
  my wings that flutter in the window

and you, you've lived through so much
  have you been here? what were your wings like?
  dull brown, like mine?

there is a little hole in the screen
  and i am not the first to enter
  but maybe i will be the last to leave

i am not afraid, but i am hungry.
  you will tarry with your meal.
  you joke about finishing last. it's funny.

and in the eve, when darkness takes my back
  when there is nothing to see but you
  and the book you're reading

you smile on the couch
  you look over, you see me,
  you smile then too

my little antennae, my feeble arms
  cannot press into you with the weight
  of relief, or release, or the reality i would give you

if only i could flitter a little harder
if only i could crawl beneath that second frame
if only i were a little stronger, i would press you tight,
  my flame

Orange and shamrock,
  blood of the mountain,
  the bite of cement:
Pronounce the boundary.
  Seek it.
  Stretch it.

Sharp city glass,
  butane and flint,
  gravel-crunch graffiti:
Sever and stroke.
  Shatter it.
  Stitch it.

Fourteen earthworms after rain,
  petrichor, bottled,
  cinnamon, bergamot:
Remember your tethers.
  Strum them.
  Sing them.

the far fog,
  obscuring the castle,
  you breathe it out,
  I didn’t come here for this,
  but I am here for this.

the blue is missing,
  rolling hills,
  choked out and cozy.
  just like smoke.
  just like home.

checkered, flaking plating,
gold, electric like the Bronze Age,
dented, cracked teeth in the mouth
of a brazier blazing at Delphi

makers’ dust and an eternity inside

warmth of nations conquered in the drums of us
subtle tears crumple our spinebound pages
  warping invisible ink we never wrote, surely
and we won’t ever speak again
mom, please

the worst dream --
  a storm rolls in, all bolt-cold, fierce,
  drowns our peat in what helps huckleberries
and your leaves unfurl
  leaving me, root-bound bog butter
  for some scientist to find
and you, so tall

The lights buzz, alight;
    now we can see blood.
    It's everywhere. It's ours.

And you, endless kindness,
    "Good work, team!"
    "Have a wonderful day!"