ache this morning i felt a seed lodged in my palm. it ached like a torn length of rope. we are playing tug of war on the roof & one of my brothers is falling of the edge. i am holding the rope & he is a bunch of cabbages in the yard. the seed is twinkling in the bed of my thumb where there are cogs & filaments & wires. i water the seed. i talk to it. i say "you don't want to choose me for your roots." there is sorbet in the freezer, huge tubes of it. a spoon floats in the doorway begging to be plucked. spoons are mostly stalkers. i give in & taste just a tiny spoonful. the flavor of a vacation-- one where i was too little before i made lists each day. round rubber moon asking for its own nightlight. i press the handles of flashlights into the loose damp earth. a forest of diminishing light all up towards the moon. the moon is less lonely now. what have you been doing to keep your body company? i love the persistence of orange rinds. a wheel rolls down the hill with out its mobile or it human. whatever grows in my hand i hope it is gentle with me. roots around bone around muslce & tissue. i am picturing a tomato vine crawling up my arm. a raspberry bush spreading all the way down to my waist. telling a boy to open his mouth & close his eyes as i place a ripe red fruit on his tongue. a tongue is a kind of beacon. all these boys in the their towers & no one to save them. have you ever been a boy with a seed soon to burst from his palm? the starlight is sharp tonight, little incissions in my blankets. a thousand tiny holes. a wound is growing. the sun is packaging himself in celophane so he will keep for another hundred-million years. i hate when humans consider extinction as if it is an option. we are here to open out mouths until our jaws turn to wings. i am here to let the seed open & emerge out of my skin. what will you steal from the farm?