If your body is clay,
your garments must be fallen leaves
clinging to your skin
with the lingering rain.
If your body is strong cedar
or simply a small thing, carved
from the inner stalk of devil’s club,
your hair must be old man’s beard
and the dewy cobwebs
of night spiders.
If your body is slight, indefinite,
a silhouette etched by the tide in the sand,
your eyes must be dark abalone
and your tongue a slick frond of kelp.
If your body is flesh, my love,
you must be lost to me.