Stanwood WA (Physical Intimacy at)

I look down the length of myself,

chin on collarbone:

this bosom, a stippled twin-tipped fold --

where in their season foals nuzzle and whinny.

Phototropic roofpeaks point up

to follow Apollo's chariot across heaven

'til shadows urge them down,

crossing fertile,

then infertile fields.

Beyond, the belly's main house

pale and steepled,

vital stuff in the attic,

light poked through

like an afterthought.

In this shot the foliage shows reversed:

in mine the pubic tangle

hedges lower,

a nether ridge

on the far side of hillocks

where thorns of light play fierce

in vines of black berry.

And cocked, aiming forward

my bleached female toe points the way I go:

what I have to go on

strains forth, a tiny roof yearned out

a nail, a cap, a foreskin,

a foot or inch of portable penis,

whatever edges me beyond the pasture,

beyond myself

into the blue.