Inside the Earth an Earth

•

Inside the Earth an Earth
turning away the step by step
into morning—you wade

against this undertow, each wave
dragging you back with empty shells
and dying alone—you collect

a darkness till you hand
becomes the sun inside the sun
the slow, climbing turn

around her breasts, beginning
at the shoulders, the lips
the thighs grown enormous

lifted star by star by a night
made from stone though you
keep hearing the splash

deeper and deeper, pulled under
to dry, open for these shells
already halfway through

—you let the water think it heats
by itself, that your arms ran aground
were lost all along.