as vesicle soul could burst,
i chance my body to a vary
a wary phase, eyes, yes yes,
(my god expands within)
my phantasm, my whim,
would, by cell, be made
from: me your vane
the earth is all surface. i shall drink from your lake. see. what pooled want would not be
used. catherine as she laps the cup, oh how she grows. my pine pulls you through the
roots, my arms inch up and up. a bird builds a nest. we sleep the night you pound.
my slink hope put to bed. i shall slough my dress,
find within a will, a smoothened stone. here a gill
become a lung, a leg, a call to my window.
i shall know from what bed this slip comes.
we are not given a return.
Della Watson’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Limestone, Make, The Hat, Denver Quarterly, eye~rhyme, alice blue, elimae, and word for / word.