I carried the yard in you —pebble stick bone moss cone feather string and stone— and what I could carry in you was nothing less than the world to me
up and up and up the mountain bend and bend and are-we-there-yet-bend in road till finally yes the water of you out and out and out forever lake of joy I can’t wait to be in you
dark the woods the earth the sky the field of you my mud-drenched world outside I watch you nose pressed to glass drops dripping down and down and down
oh heart of mine I’ve turned my back on bits and bits and bits of you
oh heart of me can there be room for all of you in the world of me?
before the thought of happy there was happy
before periods and commas and hard returns there were only things and things and things not good not bad just thisses and thats in baskets made of skirts
and then flesh became word and thought among us