Morning Bone



I know the elegance of fists!
How glorious.
Things, things. Its virulence,
The lucid clang of butterflies and accordion wings—
Little sickles, little signs.
I’m yellow and irretractable;
To your organ, I am swift as hummingbirds
To new blooms. To your nut, I am
Voracious as jaguar and tiger shark.
And when the morning opens up like a lung,
I hoist the little bone of the heart,
Hoist it high and sigh out
This mouthful of gravel,
This deliberate grin.