don’t go looking for the seam between our bodies
you will only find grown-over sutures don’t go
looking to the center of a being to find the lighthouse we
find home at our extremities, in our discomfort—and you assembled—from zygote
on—by tearing at yourself, splitting the mother you from the father you if you were to listen to what
I taught your mind to say—so many things need to be said simpler: to reach your image
we must first wrestle it from the sun, say love, say life let hold.