“For every atom
belonging to me as good belongs to you.”
~From “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman
The mitochondrial needle stitches green
into a leaf
that branches and blooms into a forest of
plant.
In Gotham, the hooker steps off the curb
into a sea of a hundred million tailor-made
sins.
I cannot sift them all or know in this flesh
and flow
where one ends and another begins
any more than I can divide raindrops that
fall in sheets
to cleanse the bruising sidewalks and sloping
gutters
that form a single grid of a thousand
streets.
The stardust of Hera’s milk spans the sky,
an entwined ribbon of nuclear fire and
fusion
giving birth to chalk-white bones in your
legs and mine.
Together, we walk as one,
stitching days hyphenated by the rising
and falling sun
into a single stream, a book with a single
theme of time.
There is the you of me and the me of you,
a bonnie lad and a more-than-fetching lass
bound as an epic poem from lasting leaves
of grass.
~William Hammett
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