Of all the gasolines combustible
I loved her the best.
She had the kind of dirt a tsunami
sinks a volcanic inhabited island for,
and above that, even, she was ground
just like coffee you could stand on,
just like ontological grass softened for picnics.
She was that carpet of fire
which held you moving through still air,
through holiest desert-cities
like a blue-genie kept sidekicking
like a canteen sloshing love inside.
Like ice-cubes she rockily diluted the Scotch-
Irish in me.
She took the peat outta my drink
& made me thirst for the dirt she'd absorbed.
She was my fossilized hanky, my magic carpet
of trilobytes & deathsleeping waterbears,
& with her on top of her under her buried
I felt like a molecule surfing geological-time.
I felt I was dj-ed by a master chemist of time.
I was a song of rocks a song of dirt
I was remixed to stones I was remixed to paint
Yearning to roll police-like stones in a hinged ring
under her thumb of deathgrown fingernails
She was my bacterial fuel,
my coach, my car, the wheeled
skate i figured out how to roll
across the ice of my zamboni-heart
She was the deep-time of my life
my candle in the southern bend
of time's shapely nude knee