chorus
Kit Byford
in our next body, our fresh
design of matter, we will
describe the nighttime world
by listening: fall into the dusk
on wings small as ginkgo leaves
threading the ragged arms of trees
with torn-off wads of cumulus.
below us, wingless bipeds
will squint at our transfigurement,
sift the sky for us, mystified
if they could hear us they
would know us as a choir,
screaming over their heads,
DESIRE DESIRE DESIRE, all but
ultrasonic, the words untrapped from our chest
glittering the bliss dark. we can author shapes
from resonance alone, find substance
in charged air, euphoria—
from nothing at all we will create
ourselves into the world.