Write me a whatnot. Black lacquer and gold 
around the mirror that shows my likeness. Highness, mother
of pearl, mantis on button feet, Van Cleef
clovers stamped on the receding
tiers. Write my incomprehension 
at real wealth. Write me an aegis, Ptolemaic. Cruel
blue lion face. Write me as the cow
puncher, cocky at no larger than a thumb. 
Expression a mean one. What is akimbo. 
What is the West. Write me orchards, trunks
like thick wrists holding up dahlias.
Gods in love. The incisive birds 
attendant at our feet. Sunset shielded by umbrella 
trees. Write fruit hat. Write exquisite 
gaze. Write a mauve hand on a pink breast. 
Deep green hillside rubbed until it fades. What is the balm.
What does verbiage bear away. Write your beloved 
tamed, serenely penned in the garden. What shape
do her vegetal thoughts take. Write angelic 
boredom, indifference to death, gorgoneion 
belief tearing through the forehead. Write flabbergast. 
Write peaceful steed burning the air. The chain 
in your mind is making a racket. Write juice oozing 
all over clean countertops. Write turquoise into the soul 
of a catfish, gold to its fins, dressed in nets. 
What if you haven’t caught it yet. Hand on heart, write 
a lamb in the wilderness. Echoes most vigorous. 
Write your sorries for all the silly tests 
of love. Write the sky gold as a bloodstained robe, 
placid scenes of passion, the most private 
devotion. Write me upright, stayed by whalebone. 
Write the conditions of our narrative, all its slobbering 
dogs, sliding smiles, looks seductive and askance. We always 
have a hand in our epiphanies. Write the bustle, cotton 
and metal, give me the shape of a treble clef. Just so. 
Musical. In the classical mode. Write a wind that will urge me.