Partness
Why should I be a whole?
Even wholeness can get sickening.
A hand ought to go away from the body
beautifully
and linger, like a being all its own,
poised on the musty air.
Before it comes back to earth, my body.
Before it returns to be me.
Then let me be partial: parts
like a bee
and a violet are parts.
Let the wind split, when
menacingly
I jump before it, I challenge it.
