Body

We’re told the head is a good place to start
when trying to tame the heart

or grab with a steadying arm
errant emotions poised to harm, sweet eyes

whose green flash mimics a diver’s back
fading amongst the kelp; quivering limbs

anchored to wrecks, porthole mouths empty
in the gloaming, filtering like baleen,

the wrack, the silt, the rich tongues of stuff,
we yearn to tangle with like hands in a game

of cat’s cradle. But really it’s the stomach
we should start with; that’s where the fist of pain is.