Earth Ward

          (for Kyra)

Unfinished, the centre still gathers
to scatter

Bees unzip the tropic of afternoon

and through weaving heat lines
the ear thinks space: worlds
wavering in and out, urth-
ink: hot colours

pushing from inside the seventh month,
August, and I am listening, listening
at the door of your house,
my ear to taut skin

The whirl of the heart, your thinking
beginning now to bud, as I
grow down to wood, to bone

You spill toward your human hearth
with the speed of darkness, a whir
outward, earthward

I can hear you
readying your shining cry