Ark

To A Pretending Leaf

I want to take off your green blouse because. I love the world behind every blouse. Because underneath skin and heart lie. I want to say it, take off your clothes. This way you know I feel it the way you do. Sticky lick at the back of my neck— locust lick of the September sky— sweet burden I never asked for. I feel it when I’m about to pluck you: The roofers’ radio-mariachi loses its accent inside you—you dance like some body. Like yesterday’s grass, which you are nothing compared to—like dirt. Dirt of Indians, one little, two little . . . I’m waiting for you to fall and kiss the ground you come from because in that kiss scatterbrained moths fly backwards, returning florescence to the flower, Arcadian dust to the garden arcade. Because there’s a wild man in the jungle. And a wise man in the desert. Because in this yard, there’s nobody and a leaf, nobody and your clothes strewn everywhere. to a pretending leaf [ 3 ] ...