when I say something witty –
out, because your insides can’t bear
to be in. Whatever you pulled inside
I deflated. I didn’t even need a pin.
I saw you. When you were under the fig tree
I saw you.
While you loaf,
I’ll be under lamplight
tracing the shadow of my hand
on the table.
All I am, the pitcher of thought
without the thought
of preservation.
Unlike you,
unlike salmon,
my back will break
the surface. You are the ahhh
of eternal dimension. I am the oh
of a punched stomach.
