Love does not want this body.
The pink buds close, & purr in the wind.
I learned what it means to be a boy: yellow scrim on water.
& the single flame of moss you call your eyes.
If I had a choice, I’d rebirth as the pond you stare into.
I called anything my face: blue jays, evening, my mother.
I did love myself—
Even luckless, I high-kicked like a showgirl.
& my boyfriend, the hole in the sky the sun streaked through.
& hope, that prayer zoomed past me, toward the sea.
& night, a shawl against touch.
I thought a man was a catalogue of what could hurt me.
No one told me if I thought wrong.
When it was my turn to talk I stuck out my tongue.
My skin unwound over the mirror.
My thighs paled, two antlers.
First, light wandered me for days.