portrait of my face throughout this day in june

i open the compact of my face.
here is everything soft & pink.
the mountains are made of powder
if you blow hard enough 
the world will be flat again. 
a mountain is born from the pressing together
of two hands.
when i put my hand up against yours
mine always turns into a lichin.
who is going to water the herbs
when i am gone? will the next tenant 
of this door know 
that this is a sage bush & this
is a friendly smidgen of lavendar?
i talk to the window & it clenches
it's teeth. when it rains tonight
someone will have left their car window 
a crack & the car will become 
a wonderful fish tank. the ghosts
of my goldfish whirl in the back yard
where their feather bones have long since
turned to soil. about my face,
it is almost unrecognizable. i am 
almost a dragon. i am almost 
a raccoon. my face is turning
on it's stage. we should pick strawberries
before all the green is drown.
i put strawberries where my eyes should be.
swelling red. tiny seeds squirming
in their seats. i walk in the field
& it's full of gnats & thin-legged insects.
i walk faster to escape them. 
some of them are sunflower seeds 
& i can't wait for them to just nestle
in the dirt. in the mirror 
my face has mandibles. it has
antenae. it has tusks. what creature
is the light making? we have little control
over what we see. of course,
i could spend every day 
with calcite instead of eyes. i pluck out
my sharp teeth & put them under my pillow.
a little pile of knives. who are you taking
to sit on the biggest red rock?
not me, that is alright. i will be here
with a chisel, trying to find
my cheek bone. i will be here
guarding a singular door 
with nothing notable on the other side.
strawberries are looming. a shark 
is in the fish tank car. pouring rain.