Nocturne

Crepuscular, 
I freefall to evening. 
Moon that unfurls like a simple mariposa 
Marbled & flamboyant seed. 
I felt so much pressure to be 
Abundant. I plead for something 
In green fields extravagant. What 
Temples trace mosquitos of this embrace? Sentient filaments, & every strand 
Astonished by a canopy 
Of decomposing craft, even the cuir lattice. When I want 
To cry another noche like a fringe star, I 
Pool amorphous beasts  
Back into organs. Some temples 
Don’t feel sinister: “God 
Is Change.” Me at seventeen 
Stitching my wet way  
Upstream, arroyo, another 
Wrinkle in the gold 
Mine. At dawn the veil 
Tessellates: LOVE-BRIGHT-LOVE-BRIGHT-LOCK-LILY-OIL. 
Even then I kept 
Busy with all this traffic . . .   
That’s why I wander like this.