And then she is the star maiden. And now she is the first woman, baring her breasts to feed a poisoned land. And he is the first man, father of black soil, bamboo blossom windstorm pestilence stone and confession. And she opens her body, the place from which all word grows. And he enters. And he enters. And he enters.

The whites of his eyes when he discovers she is a wolf, who is a woman, who is the prism in his throat. The immediacy. This wanting.

And from the wind’s whirls we would call her silken breath, she brings a feast of word. Tree branches bend, she pulls them to her. And then she is a window, a vessel, a fork in the road, a fragrance lifting from tangerine skin. The rustle of a single page, the stillness of ocean before a typhoon. And then she is the fire, around which we all gather. And ever is she lover and beloved.

The whites of his eyes when he discovers she is a shark, who is a woman, who is his gravity. The immediacy. This wanting.

SEA INCANTATION

SEA INCANTATION

Sages’ gardens, ginger root, siren
Glow of mist, jade tongues of light
Portents and smoke arousing hungers
Magnolia-plumed gold moonstone heart

Glow of mist, jade tongues of light
Collecting rain in turtleshell hollows
Magnolia-plumed gold moonstone heart
Shoals and shelter, stones that sing

Collecting rain in turtleshell hollows
Of coral, of wine, of luminous, unnamed
Souls and silted stones that singe
Of cinnamon groves’ veil of monsoon

Of coral, of wine, of luminous, unnamed
Moonless midnight’s milky stars
Cinnamon groves, veil of monsoon
The finest gold dust, tinder, mirror

Moonless midnight’s milky stare
Of angels’ tears and devils’ blood
A vein of gold dust, tender marrow
Cooing doves, a child’s fine bones

Angels tear and devils brood
Sugarcane, fistfuls of salt
My cooing dove, my child’s fine bones
A silk brocade of laughter, waiting

Sugarcane, a fitful assault
Pretense and smoke arousing anger
A silk blockade of laughter, weighting
Cages, cordons, ginger root silence

EVE SPEAKS

EVE SPEAKS

Let the man who cannot dream be a condemned man. Who comes here but shadows of ourselves, where smoke seeps into plush velvet the color of lipstick and blood. This place is my dreamweaving, its iron sculptures, framed in light. Flickering chandeliers’ fake fire. Still, wax melts and curls around my feet. The tables here are scratched brass, carved with names and regrets. You who regret, that is who you become. And you who need, but do not know why. Your need opens something in me which knows to anticipate dread. I anticipate your reprimand, and I anticipate your promise. Tell me then, as if I knew no words, tell me why you have created me to dread you.