Strata

I was devastated by the radio song. 

I felt it unbuckle me right down to my heart strings.

Right down to my panties, 

(oh-no-yes.)

I felt you unbuckle me right down to my 

strange flute, right down to my 

crumpled curly head against a hot chest, 

tell me a little more about the scenery. 

Tell me a little more about your fishing pole. 

As far as the farm goes, I'm confused.

I don't know if my uncle's ghost is brandishing his rifle 

or asleep on the couch, with his tobacco pouch

hanging out his plaid pocket.

Tell me a little more about 

your heart's hammering like a warhorse.

I think I understand the beat

incessant, 

against my low valley sternum

like hoof on sod on lithosphere, 

It's so scary to be alive at all, 

with all the bounty and the freefall. 

I like the reprieve:

the cave of your mouth, 

the dominion of lodgepole pine 

and blue-eyed grass,

I like finding myself with you, balanced 

on that sweet strata, 

environmental phenomenon, you say: 

and everything affecting everything 

right down to the eventual plummet, 

the panty drop, the quaking exhale, 

the opening palm of time