Regeneration (I)

I bring you moons
and new fruit
and I wash your feet
with sand.

How erect this planet,
how starving,
how lonely!

A terrible ball,
terrible and green and wild,
lonely,
exhausting infinity
with its screams.

A molten thumb
of sperm,
a cow’s bell in the night,
a signal.

Earth! A knife
driven into the heart
of space.

And when that infinity bleeds,
it bleeds women
and men,
drops of black quartz
lit up
by an invisible,
by an unimaginable sun.

Who drives us,
we cells on a stranger’s
globe?

Who do we call out to,
we monsters,
we tyrants made of hands
and little hearts?

The burning craters of the desert,
the memory of deep, uncanny water,
the roaring planets:

nothing answers.

But every moment unites
to a kind of ecstasy, to an overflowing:
and we spill
onto beaches
made of skin and pure time.