throws her laugh down the stairs, sends a shimmy into her body
like two hands use aluminum sheets to make thunder, keeps teeth
that bust grapes on my hips, dances as a column of fire writing figures
on sand dunes at night, smooths herself over sheets like water benefits a creek but light
threads through her better, thumbs an encyclopedia of callouses that do not obscure
her tenderness, built a home in this poorly decorated world & called it a parade & now
she leads from the front, lilies at her throat, waving, waving
