the morning moor reminds me of Earth
pictures you see from space,
a reflection engendered
through sonorous satellite signals
bouncing off & over. the morning
waterless with thick green
green grasses, their dry waves bowed
to everyday wind, tip to root.
black mud sliming,
sprawled. her body moor body
extended. bare spots
fill by midday to electric
blue made bluer in its proximity
to green. birds & dogs & humans trample
through rivulets & tears,
through pieces of muck & wonder. i eat
your green & blue & black,
& move into the smell.
the moor smells like the sea,
like a tucked away pool of ocean,
the moor—i want another word
for it that moves & sways, comes
close & smells with the coming,
then pushes away
again. her body limitless,
curving its shape across the mind.
i face her shifting muddy flat,
deceptive like quicksand,
a mood shifting under my pressing-down foot.
eddying pools & puddles
a million-handed network of finger lakes
fitted inside a whole body.
on her other side the rest of the world,
but in between, sand mounds.
shifting hills of grasses
& short bristled branches protruding
from impossible sand roots.
they don’t fool me
that anything can stay here,
that anything holds
here. when the sun moves,
things look different, depth smooths
to a shiny reflective surface
& everything that was isn’t,
but more so.