More And More
More and more frequently the edges
by Margaret Atwood
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant's tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.
I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.
Unfortunately I don't have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.
So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:
This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog's logic about bones.