darkness, for its wet breath and half-willowed trance,

together, we named it a slut for its gifts and reprieve,

because we couldn’t see what was hiding,

in the back, behind sky, under rocks, within seas.

it left. for us to quarrel with only the sun. and what we

have done, has burned the holes

where was our two eyes. in it’s place, i’ve placed berries

dripping tart and red honey, and now, i know,

creatures, shackled to land, aren’t made

for what is real at any time or even, at all for time. in the hours that

heaven may have been keeping us from. before we killed the myth, and desire

was our creation’s naked sin, we found without night, we were nothing

but rotting strip tease, crispy coated flesh, and a puncture hollowed for bloodbaths.