Microstates

Co-Star tells me I am a sieve
but aren’t we all. At least
I can only imagine or
at least I know that the world wants
heat and light and rust. Anything organized
costs something in the body
with its wet cells scattered
like small jewels.
I am in the shower resisting entropy and
my sieve-like qualities
and think of all the times I thought
this is it - this is how
you put a baby to sleep,
this is why I need a steady supply of
lemons, this is what
sorrow tastes like after age 30,
This is your sign to -
This is the year I will open a Roth IRA and
this is the closest I
will ever feel to God or something
very solid, like fossils, cheekbones,
obsidian blades. It was it when
you knelt under the redwood,
sun like a spiderweb - the west coast
is so predictable and pretty. I liked the part
when you kissed my eyes
and the rhododendrons swollen with
their leathery petals dripping fog.
My cells rushed accordingly.
I’m not sure if it’s better to be
fluid or crystallized.
I search for the answer in my own bloodstream:
what happens when you kiss me?
I like the part when you cup your palm
over my ear: the low gallop of lymph and
air could be recorded and sold
for a small fee. I
am calmed like a dog.
I used to wish I could be unpredictable
and pretty. I wish I have enough tiny eggs
each time I shed one.
I only pray on airplanes when
I can feel everything solid slip to light
and always see your face.