Finding

i find it
in a bubble

i speak
a shadow

across
glasses

i find it
where there

is nothing
but moonskin




Destination

the last time was
a kiss—they

ate the fruit
eyes open

we play
morning

by ear
because

even a cloud
has my clit

wandering
like prophetic hats

—afterwards, we
opened the eggs

& the back
ground, pink

was the same
as our skin