Psyche

2.17 (Feb, poem a day, 8 lines each)

I like the pools of your eyes. I
Am going to swim in you, a while.
Mother/father—they never said to mean
It simple: OK—the golden flock of sheep,
The turn at the end, the pull. Half-light,
Code, limbic system. The swans rushing
In, the closing, don’tmakemeIam,
Two countless patches of the kneeling sun.