The Couple Who Fell to Earth
We went flying without a map
as naked astronauts often do.
The borders of our bodies
blended into one, an erosion
of planets and vaporized stars,
we hurtled through space
and burned up entering.
Please forgive this clumsy beauty,
no more than grains of dust,
moon debris, a streak of light.
We land and make a circle,
a cornucopia in the crop
and the heat of our hips
bores down, carving a cradle,
the perilous pit,
the stone fruit heart
of human fire. The body
loves what it loves
and we can’t stop it;
we become an O around,
we become the snake itself,
the rosetta coil, the upper room.
We are flag and stigmata,
the ship set sail, the smoking
orifice, the holy divot
and buried cup. Lips
to each other’s eyes,
we will seal our demons in,
the flowering trees
and muddy gardens
of our Eden-scorched mouths. Crowns
tossed to the breeze,
the honeycomb bleeding gold
and queen’s poison darts.
We have watched
the fountain grass,
felt their glowing spines
shoot through us,
the mournful wheat heads
made of glass
trace a cross
on the cistern tomb.
And to think we slept
through it all, though
the dream kept smacking us
with every surge
of the sea’s cold blade.
We are the lion
and the lamb, the tooth
in the flesh, flaming halo
and silken curl,
the wounded bird
and coming ecstasy,
this kingdom we’ve built
till death do us part.
Michelle Bitting
