Watermark

Valley of stars, lace, caulk, molten glass:
the glassine envelope of my womb; its water table rising.

                     *

Overhead a bird swims the air currents
and that’s the nearest our bodies glean flying—
        the butterfly stroke.

                     *

Last night’s trees tessellated
        with lit windowpanes.

                     *
                                                I am too close to the sky.