The Dogstar Dream

When I kneel 

in his shadow

I trace his movement

against nightfall.

Always the same thrust,

the ruddied exhalation— 

the same Junelike gleam 

in his halfopen eye.

What fills him fills me:

this smothering oblivion

asked and asked for,

begged by silver name.

*

When my tongue aflame

touches the edges, the vectors 

there is no return 

—only saliva 

dragging down my throat

emptying empty urge:

his manifest

made mine. 

The beast’s eye,

the dogstar dream 

left melting on the sill,

pulls me toward this pulse 

splits open my heat 

undoes my seams and ropes— 

the bruising of wrists

of thighs bound, spreadapart. 

*

I make a threshold

of the man— 

he makes me 

a cataract of light, 

entering in music whatever 

abandon I perform. 

The August of us

is wet with death, with wreaths

—but leave me here

wired and red on the bedspread,

his handprint

all I need to map 

the limit 

of gods.

---

Cover photo by Bernadetta Watts