-for Robert Tavani
 
To learn that, for one person,
my back is a meadow of freckles
caught me by surprise. I
thought of myself for so long
as a trigger, a blur, a lost
chance.                     And I lived that way,

like a beetle, patrolling,
ready for a fight. Now I imagine
butterflies will come to me
lured by petals and scent and I will
have to do something other
than wear this body like a 3-piece suit.

A meadow can lean and
bend and fill up
on sunlight. A meadow can
drink rain and harbor crickets.
A meadow can move
and be still at once, in concert.
 
I might not have steel hammers
for feet. I might not have an iron
helmet for a skull. We can sleep in
a bay made of sheets and puffs of breeze—this house
a creaking ship in storm and flat sea,
our bodies, our landscapes.