for my boat lily
I heard you talk about me in unfocused molecular action
that treats the desert of the real as a furnishing
catalogued perfectly at arm’s reach away
and I can’t say I’m surprised.
Here in the science of our time together,
do you phase me, century friend,
or is my look so characteristically Roman?
Do I conquer?
I’d glean the caverns in the earthworm itself
to never send you home from the party
so long as you say something unfathomably else
and don’t give up on the bottom.