“Trilobites” by Matt Layne

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,

              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.