Love! Love! Are you? Are you lost?

Again the owl asks from its unknown tree who are you.
The night between each star asks where is he.
The moon sees geese and asks where are my teeth.
Your heart divided in four walks around outside your body
on two mountains, through two cities and asks where am I,

where is my blood, and your blood answers.
I am a small ocean in a small white house with no tide.
A still sea ignorant of its own circumference and depth,
blind fishy eyes floating through warped blue like mirrors.
The circular edge of salt says nothing.

When three parts of the heart return, there’s more
pushing than receiving blood, lub louder than dub.
Each chamber gathers salt like a cork stopped jar,
white as the moon’s teeth, for safe keeping, for the kind
of healing that sings, we’re here, we’re here, and stings.

2011
title from “buffalo on the wing,” by la fey wit