an i for an i

or tooth for teeth

make undersea anything.

in the crooks of arms, collecting,

coral reefs of unforgetting.

Abuela screeched “fear poisonous berries

constipation, handsome robbers.”

But here? skinsmiling in the skyblush?

grin and be my Cheshire cheese

and I’ll walk without feet, which is maybe

the way to seduce a strawberry.

The got-away balloon was a proud cloud architect

shaping sinewy seams with the crux

of his tongue. The got-away breath was a clatter

prattled fast, unfussed over

like the cuticles of a tiger.

I myself am less and less the walrus

it’s harder to grow tusks in the social dusk of almost

she likes classical variations

waxing rhapsody in green, green

when they ask you for a handstand

the question always stands for something

but I know the passcode:

sing Spoonlight Monata by the sink

(A man with a very long beard

realizes each strand is in fact a ukelele)

I myself am more and more the bell girl:

enamored with the manners of the sidewalk

as it sidles, changes places, stretches closer to the road

It’s a mango day.

bare backbones are in gear

dreaming of cotton gins, tin rivers

Babies cry because the world is empty

then swaddled in pool floaties fly asleep

hum soft, waxing gibbous, in pools and watering cans

the stars fandango free

I myself am still and still the shapeshifter

feeling like a gymnasium

feeling the press of an elephant army

Queen of shoes and shells and feet

Rolling up my sweater, see?

Which is maybe the way to

seduce a strawberry