Self-Portrait as Masturbator

Come—swim in me, tread

upon shores of cenotes

unburied. In the

water is a sheep

led by the horns, a hand there,

white-knuckled, grasping,

but it’s you blinking

through her slow lashes. You had

convinced yourself (or

were convinced) that Out

There is where Fear lives, walking

in a body not

your own & if you

kept your head down you might not

meet its hollow mouth

skimming over your

smooth surfaces. It’s smaller

than you’d imagined—

the red curve where God’s

knife sliced through trying to draw

the perfect circle.

You are the head that

emerges on the other

side of love, the eye

of a thousand lids

opening, searching, I’ve