Mantra-humming cat lays heavy in my lap, vibrating universal contentment. I draw in smoke from a hand-rolled cigarette thick and brown as fresh turned soil. I close my eyes and breathe out a steady stream that arbors purple grapes just above our heads and we reach up, tantalized... The moon lay soft on a pillow of cloud, there was no cry heard but a laugh. Me, full of myth and wine, and you, there, stretched long on the blanket, humming of comets and constellations. You spiraled about me like an ancient trilobite and together we saw the beginning of life. The air is layered thick around with rhythm birthing rhythm while unleaving leaves dance dark and naked upon the wall. I roll there as you roll, and drink deep the sound of you, the sound of you, soft and quick, like a cat's pink tongue curling water from a glass.
Matt Layne is the poetry editor of Steel Toe Review, a librarian, a poet and your new best friend.