In His Lecture on Resonance, the
Poet Instructs Us
The poet tells me I will be redeemed if I embrace
dying. Mortality, fondled like a loverís balls
will give my words the dirt blessing,
fill my mouth with salt and sweet as if my tongue
licked up a manís thigh to the dark earth scent
alive at the edge of language. Knowing
Iím on my way out, he says,
should be the fruit of every day.
But such short daysóand what if they include
the drop and rise of my slick belly, breasts
against a loverís skin? He never says,
stroked clean and rolled again in sweat,
how I could crave another kind of death?