My ideal self is always nude
for Mary
I wish I could tell you and I wish you’d
believe: there’s nothing here that’s thinking
when I stare out across space. Ask about
my ideal self all you want: I’m always nude
to the point that is everywhere
with no circumference. I’m just like you.
I know everyone’s fucked-up and sinking.
I know everyone’s beautiful with fracture.
I love that I dive those slow depths across space
and that you try to follow. I can tell you doubt
is the loudest crash and the softest liftoff.
But I can’t tell you my name.
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