we crawl from branch to branch, tiny coordinated limbs
gross in the great, scheming abandon of the world.
I rub myself along the soft of the stalks:
a show for you, directionality, so that you can feel control.

somewhere along the sunflower stems
I've lost you, your face in a yellow frame.
I think I am free but it's one moment, one leg over,
until I am at home again.

your dance, distinct among the rest, tells
of your journey and weary desires:
still you chase among the blossoms.
still you gather, and make your honey.

bury me here in the brown red dirt:
with cups and bowls and spoons and soap,
mint leaves and the dozen ways we call the moon.
plant me, and let me grieve.