Itinerant Stanzas

Nets stretch
through trees but we 
make fables about milkweed 
butterflies and birds
flying blind.


A birthing chair, oiled
to a dark sheen. Even furniture
sings odes to the ways in which
certain bodies are made 
to open.

The fantasy in which you find
your way back doesn't exist,
even if you remember the name
of every river or road shaped
like the ideogram for home.


Lean back into
your own body, then.
Cradle and fist, shuttle
and loom. A boat at night.
Above all, a boat.

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