I’m hunting radiance
which comes and goes like
the movements of barnacle shells.
I cling to a rock as
poems slough off my skin
and litter the sand.
I lose myself in blossoms,
in white petals hugging
stamens and liquid ovaries.
I sense the ecstasies
of pollen-drunk bodies and
bathe in the scent of warm soil.
I taste this day with a solitary tongue,
with flavors ramped down, no music
but the silence within.
It is tentative, this touch of the fringes,
this animal sniffing of the moment,
unlike the flames we tossed over clouds.
