Desire set sex’s depth 
once making it shattered again into loving arts —   
 
guzzling bottled water before you came to mind, then effectively passing 
thru the park, streets,   
 
I roll now to hold your bearing that moment   
 
I kissed a cat. Once.   
 
Once out of death  
I wrote on otherness when down (“I’ve stopped looking”) otherness came.   
 
What’s the worst that can happen? Love’s twenty times its own weight,  
enclitic in almost meaning.