Anemones incriminated on rock respond
Shyly to fingers in the socket, suggesting
The face is just an expression, or else
Daylight hits different beneath water.
If water were a condition of rock and
Not the other way around, our jagged
Avenue of differently shaped lanes
Would swallow both ends of the rubber
Spaghetti, clutched sensibly between
Two opposing instincts that both
Kill the cat. Sand keeps the time
Between your hips, at which point
I open them up in order to come
Back, the day after the day after
Tomorrow. If months were days.
If the birdsong were spelled out
Phonetically, I would come back
Home and cut the first slices small,
Knowing that cake is just as fickle
In size as states. For instance, we
Had no way of knowing the shape
Of California before we got there.