Strummed on strings, perhaps it’s more
my drum that singes hearts
and sings with soil beneath my feet —
It’s earth, this night, this dance
perchance a moment or forever more.
You are my mistress, sister lyre.
The way you tremble, desert flower
breast or gourd, now fleshed for me
on chest my instrument, you’re more
alive than every girl I’ve ever loved.
September 2, 2016