Revelation in Iowa City

In June I recall the thrill
of spreading my legs
open not even for anyone
but myself

I want the wind to grip
my thighs. I want sap-splattered
hips, spider bites, my pelvic bones
to jut like stilled sails

In June I’m a seraphim
serrated open by a druidic blade
I say, teach me why
I’m the way I am. I breathe

into swaths of burlap
my alveoli are the eyes
of fish speared to the wooden slab
ricocheting, blood-slashed

In June I do the gutting
& more than that the heaving
I spill my own entrails
for five minutes of being

able to crest my own waves
the cool slough of ending vigor
our cheeks swirl euphoric green
hands wrenching open a net until

I am convinced this cannot last
before it even begins

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