after Ocean Vuong
waking night
at the backdoor
wide. an arm and a leg
of venus undecided
on whether he is full
or empty. waking
when rain is real again
and the wood remembers me
the way i was before
the kindling cut.
could i keep up
when all rivers dry? waking
to infinite ends, for the cord
only longs when taut, only
runs when strung.
suspending dawn
for laud my silver severing
for laud my subtle lakes
and laud my idle edge of eden
before all numbed over
by the bull i made
as bright as his star.
_
_
