Fragonnard tree

Wide the windows flung
Hot air and insects rush past my ears.
Seusslike, the trees saronged in kudzu,
play a thousand stringed insects.
Winged violins pulse
like sounds rushing by roadside.

Some nights the air is soft
with so many winged things,
mosquitoes giving form to breath.

Measeled and chiggered,
itching and speckled like a trout.
Drool glazing a film on still water,
my beached hands, my hooked fish:
Silver membrane, silver slipper.

Pins and needles,
new legs split like fingertips,
gutted fish, scales sequined with a two handed saw.

This woodcutter, this wet birth
twin limbs like two white tongues
pimpled with an interference of corpuscles.

Bunting blue, bejeweled starling,
I flay the inskin of an eel,
mirror glass
the beads my lips let slip

pressing tongue to nave.
Blood blooming from a curling lip.
Teeth pearls
growing in the knot of fist.

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