curved as a lip pouting for a kiss

sponge of sunlight,
my tiniest
filaments stand in ceremony
to your song of color

insects decide to walk the labyrinth
of your perfumed path

are you tickled by these
cellular inspectors
sipping your sweet wine of particulates

would you have preferred to be a robin
burdened with the sky’s
most unique song

do you wish you were the moon
a whole planet of petals
with an atmosphere of cologne

a dolphin bathing in the coral medicines
of an oceanic garden?

you itch
when you are closed
                          shy & anxious

unconcerned with weather
              death or dementia

you are the earth’s soldier of love,

yet––what do you know of it?

From Martian: The Saint of Loneliness. Copyright © 2022 by James Cagney. Published by Nomadic Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.