The father was attenuated and as impenetrably delicate as ever.
The mother’s hair was the path of the uncertainty
principle. Her eyes are like emeralds,
then they are like eyes again.
Her smile hitches us up into the summer
night, where crickets call out in satisfaction.
We’ve all had to travel.
The child will emerge glossy with questions, new hair slick
with the passage, into this art
If society is a work the performance
or collage artist might
destoy at any moment, then the long moment
we look into each other’s eyes is what moves
beneath the little days like an unexpected
The child will arise from it, wet.
The new mother and father are dancing to the band
and then we all lay ourselves down
in deference to the power
of our own desires, and to how far
we had to travel just to feel them all over, all over again.
Simon says Call out a fragment of the whole,
Simon says Lie down,
and in our horizontal imitation
a new child will arise from us,
and we’ll be bowing
to the unimaginable.