Headlights purchase being,
dealing cars by night lengths.
I am transacted across lives
for economies of passengers.
Once I am my daughter,
asleep beneath apple trees.
The snow is apple blossoms,
wandering insouciant into traffic,
her tiny body insouciant in traffic.
Twice I smoke in velvet noise
beneath colossal glowing teeth.
A glass house incubates three augurs.
Their forms are shining white:
Cashmeres feed on porcelain breasts.
Boots ripen on porcelain stalks.
Benedictions lock their hands in praise—
my darlings whisper it beneath their suns—
I hear, in each crinkled inhalation,
“The keenest orchard guards her sleep.”
I cross the city, find my car.
It’s white, shimmered with their lips, and shy.
Then I’m me. The world is roads I buy with light.