Crow Moon
       

How is it like this: I crawl
into you, bewildered, dry-tongued. You open
like Pangea, waterlog, drown me. The hard skin
of your back reminds me of coconuts, the silk, the way
my fingers slide beneath the shell to spread
yielding, milky skins. I can wrench one open
with a knife and a mallet. I can break it
apart in my hands, look straight into its hollowness. You
speak to me in tongues through the still rim
of hemispheres. Your cold words ring
through the hollow of this place, of your
body, my own.

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Copyright © 2019 Kathryn Merwin All rights reserved
from CutBank
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission