By Sydney Lee

My loss of reign over bodies,

running soldier, an everyman’s feet

slips away into rigid night—

Ears, last awake of my drowning body,

tend to rhythms, to waves—

circular bandits—

Hands of faster revolution

than your fourteen moons.

Navy blue oceans return to me,

hush my sun.

Blind woman, you are a fool,

are thermal inertia of the sea—

refuse blinking your swelling eyes

of envy and chronic longing—

I long for my sun. Golden face,

Enormous warmth enough

to dry up my oceans,

make me rain over bodies—

Seep through every crevice,

embrace every residue, every dust

absorbed into the depths of earth—

breathe life into root, into fossil—

become able-bodied:

the loss of this body.