frolic

i used to want a skull & now all i want
is a wicker basket to carry my wondering.
no preocupations or terrors
just thoughts that meander like
cirrus clouds. smeared pastel.
oil left on the ceiling from a previous god.
at the farmer's market i sneak
under a leaf of cabbage & hear
the sound of wood winds. i consider
what it would take to feel loosened.
my arms are purple-seeking dragons.
tunnels beneath the earth house reserves 
of untapped whimsy. soon we will be 
nothing but field dwellers again.
the dandelions will grow from 
our eyes. yellow language as we finally learn
how to ask the sun for an apology.
burns in the shape of petals.
my skin, always a nuisence. 
trying to teach my body to be
more like its water. letting go 
of teeth. little sail boats sinking.
a lake of pink water. papercuts 
all across my sightline. here is where
we peel rind from fruit. roll melons
down the side of the mountain. 
ask rocks for their oldest names.
i find myself in your meadow.
i wear the only dress left in the world
and let my barefeet catelog textures.
i bury my gender with my bare hands
so he-she can find the tunnels.
cover her up & put my ear to soil
so i can hear the sound of acordians
& condors. above, i count airplanes
until it is nighttime & i have spent
every single number. all that's left
is wingbeats. bats share strawberries
& offer me a triangle of night.