When the Air is Babylonian

the baby bat hides like a handkerchief 
trimmed with teeth in the pocket of the world. 

Which is why she took it upon herself 
to marvel at the red umbrella where it clung 

to the belly of the sky, then looked down at 
the center of me, making shade from the wrists 

slow turn, hard not sentimental. Naked beneath 
the sun’s long hair, those strands of gasoline, 

we were tempted to burn the scripts people say
to stay alive, leaving fragile flying things 

to devour the world the way fear does,
blood-stained smiles and all.

Closer, Stop, Right There 

When the caterpillar 
exposed the lie 
that vision is for saints,

I praised you, 
my course in blindness 
held beneath the stars.

Cool as mud 
the river made
after last night’s storm,

the darker the silk, 
the tighter the knot,
said thunder’s silver tongue, 

as lightning married 
flame and fear, 
our bodies jubilation.