you are not the pant of promises the night dances me, you
are not the dream my day would sleep for, you are
not the dusk cloying my day into stumbles into trees and over trikes
and I am not the dawn pulling night’s ******* back down.

     I
am
  the ladybug
              in wind upon a stem planet-lit,
      earnest are my chandelierwings.
I am the Blackbird ardent on melting snow. I, the am, the              

             moonwhorler pouring pale blueberry sunshine I slurry
          the rare earth of your core




.