You haven’t formed me.  I’m a monster still.
Then give me your body.  Give it to me in rain.
Look up and fill me.  I am too dark to stain.
You haven’t  held me. I hold apart my will
Spread dryness through me.  I have a night to fill
in high heat-speckled waves, apart from where
I will come down.  I have nothing to share
with breath.  I will give it back.  There is one to kill,
one to renew, and one to persuade to weep.
My night holds everything except for sleep.

First collected in Calendars (Tupelo Press, 2003, second edition with CD, 2008).