the world is a river in me.
Sweet rain falls in the drought.
Leaves grow from lightning-struck trees.
I am across the world from daylight
and know the inside of everything
like the black corn dolls
unearthed in the south.
Near this river
the large female ears of corn listen and open.
Stalks rise up the layers of the world
the way it is said some people emerged
bathed in the black pollen of poppies.
In the darkness, I say,
my face is silent.
Like the corn dolls
my mouth has no more need to smile.
At midnight,
there is an eye in each of my palms.
I said, I have secret powers at night,
dark as the center of poppies,
rich as the rain.
But by morning I am filled up
with some stranger’s lies
Unearthed after a hundred years
they have forgotten everything
in the husk of sunlight
and business
and all they can do is smile.