First I took clay, breathed over it. In my mouth:
sand, storm, burning sky. Then I fashioned it,
beloved, into you and everywhere — south,
north, down, up — paused, listened to this misfit
magic. The breeze listened. The bread listened.
The knot listened. The dawn listened. Sun dawned.
I woke you up; painted your lips, crimsoned
your eye-holes. You blinked twice, sat up and yawned.
This is before the Bengal cat tail-plug
that you loved. Before you learned desire
and walked through this world like a colossus.
You were famished. You ate drug after drug;
all I had. That first trip you simply were,
beloved, all naked, divine, monstrous.