Writhing and arching
Arcing and writhing
I lay upon a bed of horsehair
Laced thickly with the roots
Of the vertiver

Looking up at the moon
I reach towards it with one finger
Trace it’s shape, caress it’s curve as if
It were your temple, your nose
Your fragrant jewels, your wet, wet mouth

My body no longer resembles Venus but
Has shape shifted into the miles I’ve laid down
And has gained a scent that is hard to place

sea foam, the cooking pot and the screech
owl over head. the lost visa, the Sudan
the promise, the betrayal

the abandoned conch shell, the whispering tribes
the disorder the commitment, the pond in the
meadow. monk’s tongue, goat skin

And the snap of my wrist as I announce my arrival