Lightsey Darst

She hates the stuff her life
is made of: its forward, back,

its in-between. She hates the silence
between caresses: she’d rather live

a panther baring purple gums, or the sea reaching
her unruly arms.

The sea beats.

A worm crosses
the cutting board. She cleavers him
in two, but the worm goes on

without lack: his unseparated heart
grows both ways.

The blue sea beats at the ragged edge
of the world:            all it knows
is its one wild method,

all it knows is all.