We give names to our souls to catch them,

        & the sun to make it small:

a hand-held yellow oyster.

A want of clouds rubs off

        on my cheek. The ghost

of the river fords me

without pity, & I pull my

        breath to stretch sincere

from my hands. Can

the earth rename us? It is

        the honor of the sky

who knew us first. You take

my feathers into palms

        & slake your derailment.

What prisms did you see

& how were they bound?

        We embrace under

a shaken day. When we

got here there was no one

        not to see.

All lies have a ghost

of a barn or a shoe

        to fill. I name

myself after rain unpeeled.