Before this world,
we passed through clouds of others.
Worlds of eye-deep islands in a coffee cup.
A world’s hand stopped, as if still holding
a dropped phone.
Starry flourishes that can’t be read when we look toward them,
that don’t see us when we look away.
Slopes of pumice underfoot, and pumice in air scraping lips
down to first and last wishes.
Worlds in which I looked for you
and worlds in which I drank from you.
Middens of matter, a dense nothingness in them,
and spectra that luster along mothers-of-pearl.
Shore-shimmer. shining so many ways.
Broken, liquid worlds that say, Bring water in your hands.
Bays torn white by a turbulence of dolphins.
Bays torn blue by the two-hooked moon.
Dust of horizons crossed, billow-mist passed under.
What I call to you in this world—I must
recall from some other.
Light gives a little shudder
just before I say your name.