Sing to me, Forest, of your undergrounds
where I wait, hungry, attention on
your warning sounds, willing myself
to root into reading with my feet
your songs, coded in chemical notes: C, N; I
lean in, root to root.
Yours is the song I mean to hear & hold,
to carry back by this vessel
to the others of my kind where we meet among blocks
of concrete, warning bells & sirens
to remember birdsong, heartbeats, susurrations
of our mothers’ wombs
by these waters
at this shore
against these feet, to see
the sea, la mer
ma mère, my mother
to better remember the taste
of being tasted into life by an octopus
whose arms around me whispered before i knew
to wonder what she was by name
to say come here, love. i devour you.
& go, my tongue’s first song meeting hers,
song fleshed back into
this thin-skinned cup
all i have for holding