A pleasure is not
a shallow pastel,
a cartoon angel,
a giddy bubble.
A pleasure has teeth,
time and shadow.
Oceans are tugged
back by the moon’s leash.
I feel the salt in my blood.
I taste her tongue.
The storm waves hurl
breathtaking spray up
through stone fists.
Limbs and bones
fall into place,
earth’s embrace
thick mineral space
where only life escapes
unless it burrows, deeper
seeking treasure,
seeking home.
The split husk,
the swelling germ —
death and life tumble,
screw up the sheets
of earth’s bed
in vegetal coitus and
Thou art That,
leaf-rot and lipstick,
mushroom erection from
sylvan roots
ascend.
Holy fire hammers
the ozone dome,
teases leaves and feeds them.
A breeze plays with the seeds
the birds dance for as they
flit bickering
pairwise spirals
with reptile eyes
like ours.