after

I think my thought around you,
standing Delilah, the way
arcing through me through rainbow
bouncing around your feet, what
perfect instrumental corn.

Your chest opened the moment
I fell into your Redwood
forest so quietly, small,
little, even afloat of
seedling, downing, only sun,

warm, a known crown, knowing idea.
Perfectly bewildered I
think of you, horn-breasted, eye
perfect stutter of your shy
name-song in the gopher way.

Hill in the moonlight is still
enough for the light to peer
deeply into each summit;
deep my thought, still boomerang,
so distant its hit; it wists

a cord's strong enough under
time's wet and swift fingers, ties
all things to it, like your throat
I swim among, the Steelhead
upstream to the homepool, egg

rapidly pearling orange
saltlings along the rippling
edge of your dark habitat.
You slip just out of sight, reach
around each wall of this fir

city dropping stunning cones
to rest, amethysts, awake
your spelling singing language
I can't understand but know;
tower to clamber were I

as pure; threshed, winnowed over
wind cycle in collapsing
wheel--each rung stings. I suffer
metal, organic rock to
embark on my thought curling

its blood stump, illicit ring.
The mysterious bark shies
channels diamonded with ants,
carrying all this alone,
imperfect, feeding dark bodies

my body's same thought, which
here is the pavement cracking
the speading pattern lover,
allowing sunlight's idea
to warm the head of your clover.