All the strands of your hair. Beware
While you cradle your head on
My chest. You might hear this heart-

Land of cactus and hemlocks where moons
Loom only to wane like promises, where
Chameleons flit like weathers

And tenderness wears off like snake-
Skin. Or you might learn to count
My heartbeat: One, two, three, and on

As if weeding out the lilies clogging
The rivers in my veins, till you hear me
Muttering the names of those intimately

Drowning, those long gone whose
Distance I span with my missing fingers
Counting: One, two, three, and on

Till your hands retrieve in the hollows
Of your palms my missing fingers as if
Scouring the depths for feathers.