who becomes our bodies
after our flesh splits ways
with life and makes with
root worm and sun glass
the several blades of grass ?

(i'm making and again wonder
evenly obscene
in the sunlight over my arms
brushed with noon beams
and shadows tightly beneath
my feet;

i think,
and splay over the mind
of children's voices
hurryingly hunched
and bruising the silence
slightly with slim slivers
of giggling–

(there's a boat waiting for me)(

i have to go))(

goodbye  )   )    )