Julie
Choffel [author
bio]
Of
the Many Ways Back to the Body
Like
reappearing faces in a deck of cards
or
those things about your face
you
can�t help,
you
were looking
for
the model smile, you got systemic beauty.
Those
remaining trails of ice you find
in unsprung parts of the forest.
The
patio is our newest
archetype.
Through deck slats, I see
the
top of your head,
spiral
made by your hair there.
Your
sweet cowlick.
Low
pressure and its shy pockets
of cooler air.
All
the trees don their halos
and
lingerie, unable to trace
their
last partners. Sex drops
into
its navy-colored cavern.
We�re
grateful for the humidity.
Anything
to do with flooding.
The
day�s center, lavender
and
opulent with weather,
so
preparatory.
Cloud
categories overwhelm me.
Your
hands willowy.
The
rivering of noises
always outside of us.
This
is the rush
of
wind and temporary
identification.
Engendering
your
ear, as you breathe
so
carefully to preserve a posture.