Thursday, the 20th of July,
came to me and said,
I will give you this one elastic day.
Snap it shut or stretch it like bread dough.
So I put my hands in kneading and pulling.
It was a gauze-bag day.
The blue bell flower opened at the tip of its stalk.
I am a body not equipped to take every flag down hill,
but looking at all the exits and entrances,
I chose white wine in a plain gla** goblet,
and wearing a flannel nightgown,
I went barefoot into uncut gra**.
The temperature rose.
The yeast began to work.
Every spider took to the air.
The cells of my skin puffed and tugged
and with a great shout let go their tethers
until looking up I saw myself like a cloud,
like ectoplasm, like an angel
among the branches of trees.
Then peeling layer after layer
I went to it letting go,
until only the elemental worm remained
letting itself down
on a string of spittle.