for Nima

I am much taken by one long 
thumbnail a bright star on dark 
water forcing attention toward Nova

so forgive if I minister 
to or try beside the 
distant thigh and mine 

thumbs on various skins 
stretch tight as if such 
stretchedness is the purpose 
of rivers for a night in wet 
summer chaste as I am (of 
currents made) breathing 
into what attention means 
back in the small space the 
small of the back imagining 
thumbnail's trace an ancient 
script in darkness as is the 

other darkness dark 
as dark waves spray 
the bow

*

blow upon me 
now I beg 

keep

bless 

the wound the 
burning 

the thigh where 
is 

this pressing 
still

*

just the thing 
to talk of stars

baby seals play 


now to sun on gray 
rocks wet 

my head 
tucks in 
a niche
of stone 
natural there 
ages old to warm 

to press the thigh 

mine there too 
that impress of 
presumptions of 
massive forces 
compressing into

upon always/already 
decaying things 
such are the living
sparked imaginings 
barnacles, seaweed 

I am not new to such need

I am not immune to the worry

*

upon my chaste 

return sunburned 

churned by the 

Atlantic I will have 

discovered a haunting 

sound again 

an animal 

music of the air