I
Girl inscribing in night
lightning’s sizzling trill,
whittling in pitch this bright
wiring, its divining stick’s split
kindling his witching wick, his
birdish ribs, wish’s thin fit;
girl, this wild which births limb
twining limb will still spirit
chill, flirt’s flit stilling
II
in flint. Girl mimicking
his wit’s gimmick, chiming
his insist—his is, his isn’t—kinking
his whip, kinging him
with rings, with in thick,
in thin, with pink icing’s
gilding scrim: in blinks, hitch
is pinch, listing in wind
his riffing wrists silk. Instinct’s
first high diminishing
III
in fifths. Girl skirting lightning
shrinking thin, thirst circling
his brim, I isn’t I
if middling in him.
If hindsight is insight
biding its timing, might
is might. Girl still rinsing
in light, this spring’s
still high: Girl, sink.
Swim.
This poem is supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts.
