*
This flower pressing against my palms
— celestial navigation must come easy
scanning my hands for arcs and islands
— I want to be there when its fragrance
finds where you have hidden your breasts
from the silence — it’s still worth while
to take hold, empty this flower
follow it in the dark — don’t ask me why
but before bending down
I stood on just one foot, eyes closed
trying not to lose my balance
or breath — a haphazard touch
imprinted by exploding galaxies
and I too would change course
into a scented breeze
and these dry, small hands
that live too long.