The moon’s never seen me
like this before, bat-heart worn out,
every star like a tincture of iodine
in a wound. I pass raccoons,
opossums, deer on the road.
Entrails hang like rhododendron vines
from vultures’ maws.
Fascinated by the reach of shadows,
by the way I agreed to be yours.
Hands grabbing for you in saltwater.
Seaweed, and me, in knots. I’ve become
a gutshot animal. Here are red clouds
like blood in the sky. This is the flight patterns
of birds. This is translation. Here I am
in amber, lungs thick. If you press your hand
here, you may see a light. This is how I alter
my posture in your arms. This color, aquamarine.