I was born inside the traffic
streaming down flooded streets,
swaddled in the dark green wings
of an ancient Chrysler.
Strobing lights awoke me. Skewed,
swirling with the rain on glass
and thunder beating on the dash,
my eyes against the window flew
in terror, heartbeat hooves
rushed skyward, the heavens all bore down
against my small cocoon.
Wet tires whooshed a lullaby.
So much old traffic rivering through the hourglass
to an ocean where all cities flow,
percussion percolates dreams of you
from the makings of a clash.
Long downstreamed, I lost my metal shell,
pried-open chrysalis now junked
from which I rose like fumes
of bladderwrack. Your eyes’ slow burn,
numinous of pearl and hummingbirds,
sweep my gravity away, your jade
a sun-drenched amulet within
my fall-in-love spell’s dead-man’s curve
where we come undone.
Smoldering on the switchback of desire,
ylang ylang alight
in the great dark of your eyes,
we bring our pounding hearts, baptismal stones.
Our drumbeats soft along the jugular,
their rolling rhythms palpable,
their fullness in our bones.