In my middle, small submarine, pigeon pea 

               housing hormones. A star was born beside it, 

grew, then blued & popped. An angel appeared 

               before me, said, God will send a flood. Set 

my bush to burning, there I saw the future 

               blood. Marched animals onto my ark, two by two, 

they knew me by the amber stripe in my eye. 

               The wolf in me paced the deck, the serpent 

slept & bobbed for apples, the doves & ravens 

               circled, the birds of prey prayed, but, worried, 

none would land. Their sounds a frenzied 

               symphony, so loud the panther felt compelled 

to know the path & so stretched a long 

               periscope toward the multiplying horizons, 

saw the new earth & instinctively knew, 

               to make it through the density, the beasts would 

have to give up something: maybe memory, 

               surely hunger. And so, like any good God 

-mother, I laid back, unzipped myself 

               from lip to heel, I let them feast.