I run with my mouth open. I open my mouth to breathe
into yours. On a whim
the Queen Anne’s lace offers the roadside a galaxy.
I run. You take care of my breath.
You take care of it again.
Is this trust
or a consequence of summer’s washes and concoctions?
Like one admonished for not darkening enough
of my nights, I ask further into the inflorescent
quiet. Once a woods, always a woods.
Sheet of mist on the unmade bed.
The sky begins at my mouth: star, moon, meteoric truck.
I find the wind. You find my west.
The contours of the pasture
repeat the contours of animals who wake
in the promise of grass.
I love exhaustion. I love it again.
Copyright © 2015 Cecily Parks
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.