A God to Woo, and: The Sentiments

A God to Woo

I think like the worms who, overjoyedin their unbelief, went up a ladder

to see for themselves the fire. Tough it ishardly odd to witness stars in silage

(burned-out seeds ready and waiting) the wormshad never known them to yodel or cry the way

planets do, charging red-hot overhead.Secretly, I, too, sunrise to sunset,

eat dirt and long for flames and at night findmyself chewing the invisible edge

of moonlight. Or am I like that dog unleashedin fields and woods, my yapping uncouth, my mouth

open to everywhere? Should a roseburst from roadkill, would I be the first to feel

the fever? And if ever the treeless hillis gored by lilies, how could my intention

not be to gallop away on a pink cow, callout Mayday with my knife in prayer?

The Sentiments

For a moment, they ride in the cockpit of the poppy, cosmonautsengulfed in flame but unfazed by fire after caressing it.

Aliens, blue-capped, they disembark the poppy for the honeycomb,yet home is not everything. I say that home is not everything

even though I never grow tired of my bed of Russian sage. To be takenup into their indecipherable hum, I ask the swarm to secrete

a yellow cake, which, if eaten day by day, will make me titanic. My violentglow, what will be the truth of it? The fuel to be consumed is sure

to kill the brain, and whatever sable field this is where the stars abovevomit their light, I go toward the sweet. I go toward my beloved.