I know you can see through my body,

its soft little bones
its heart-shrill rhythm.

I forget how astral everything is,

that my suffering is equivocal to my orchard, the number of orange fruits that exist.

I love the way your beak is pierced with a thousand holes like a flute.

Each opening has a different sound, each sound is a secret.

Phoenix, I tried to rip the skin off a snake instead of letting it moult.
I tried to block sunlight with my body
save a fly from a swimming pool.

I’ve tried to live my life in one breath.
Tried rebirth,
reared myself to live quietly
beside a shoal of wild demons.

I trust I am a butterfly dreaming as a woman, the fact there are realized beings.

Don’t tell Oaba, Baba joon
about my drinking
rainwater through dirt.

About my opening the door to death like a boathouse.
That I am only water mixed with dust.
That we are just something rather than nothing.
That the world might persuade you of otherwise.