rembrandt’s meat

in that certain land
untouched by solar gain
not mars, not earth

and not that planet love
her hot terrain
the last we’ll visit

in that pure land reflected
from sequestered seas
themselves refracting skies

we screwed unthinkingly
and grunted with surprise
when it hurt or didn’t

and with new positions
and permissions
explored

improbable new passages
through time and its corollaries
then afterwards

i heard a pendulum
whistling, near
you heard rain

we left the house
upon the hour
and in the woods

we found a small breeze
sly, agnostic
two-hoofed

smoking a cheroot
fingering a dryad
its rising fur

said photograph me
see where my liquor breath
rots leaves

and then we’re slick and running naked
scared
and start an argument

that can’t be finished
about the sacred
and profane

I grid my points
with lightning straws
through which to suck

epiphanies
you match temerity
with ambiguity, tug me

back through that
looking glass
peppered with the cracks of dreams

through which we stepped
like sleeping glue
possessed, to

a desert where a pyramid
of wood chips
is lit by sunset

an annunciation
I must forget
like rembrandt’s meat

first a splayed
ox
and then

soft skinned dowagers
cleaved from their
husbands, hooked

by time
and torn in their
surrendering