ensemble.
it does not interest me whether
you choose to kill the
sap-laden butterfly or
funnel your overblown head into the
purple orchid’s eye—
rather, speak the language of your
gaze as we peer over
meadow-canyons and times crevasses,
forget the future, jilt the sky, spin on
your scruples, teach me the best way to
live with an eye closed and the other
spread open like a horizon, submerge me
in your soul with a weight chained to my
right ankle; let me breathe and let me
breathe and let me
breathe
— jupiterean













