Sentence

After Don McKay I crawl back       he unpacks his tools oils the wooden handles        rinses the metal fragrant       his thighs fragrant his sneer koi & eternity inked on his skin          an ecstatic blue a bewildered green some wounds are ovals some wounds are opals the ears of a white wolf pivot        toward the moon I flee now & then         alone in the desert for months a nomad in a kimono of pressed-together dust beautiful his throat his words         even more beautiful “it’s my turn to ask for a bit more from you” he likes it when I bleed         strangers once gently he hammers gold into a sentence       gently the sentence enters me