The first, unlike any living flower
Arranged in layered whorls of three
And world is music, mirrors, malaise.

We wander, naked In our clothes
They press up against us, we stiffen
Our devil hearts beat faster and faster.

We wish ourselves into the graves of strangers
We talk to animals, a retort of earthquakes
Thunder, smoke for forty days.

Do they know? Our flesh and bones testify
To each sinking of the earth
An atom of faith, the eye of a needle.

I am only nine. And a child's tongue
Must be good. And I should not be at the mercy
Of the fourth sky. Or this man.
Or that.