directions to my tongue

you make a left where all the birds fall 
from the sky. where the ghost of a fox
hunts daffodils. where all the children go
to stare as if an angel will appear.
you walk over the bridge of lizards.
i have never been there so it might be
a bridge of actual lizards or it might
be just a euphemism for men on their bellies.
haven't we all been a brick in a bridge?
i have used my bones to welcome 
animals into the wind chime season.
once you have crossed the bridge
you are going to have to talk to your father.
not the kind of talking you usually do
but the kind that involves blood.
the truth with all its grease & butter. 
then, he will remove a key from his mouth.
you will have to find the lock.
some people have had to search for years
but i will give you a secret, it is
usually at the back of your own throat. 
i believe gravity exists to remind us 
we are always pulling each other in.
my body to yours & yours to mine.
have you ever loved someone so much
you open your mouth & they're talking.
this is what it will mean to arrive
at my tongue. the last step is to hitchhike.
you will stick out your thumb
& wave it on the side of the highway.
no one will stop for hours. only get
into a truck if it is purple. ride for days.
watch home videos out the window.
a swing set on fire. a planet washed down
the drain. when you get here take off 
your shoes. lay down as if my tongue
is a bed of moss. i asked you here
so i could tell you what i always wanted
to tell you. about the blackberries
& about the bone you broke as we 
were running away from your father. 
his eyes like jupiter beetles. angry as ever.
i hope you know i mean to swallow you.
it is only right. do you remember making me
into a pill? rolled between your forefinger
& thumb until i was round. 
you know as well as anyone that our skin bends but 
does not forget. here is my tongue.
tell me, did you think you would be
this small when you returned?