is a body I hear tapping

             against the window a leafless

body scratching against the door

             much larger than the bird singing

in the lacing forest beyond

             the window all things are full

of gods this body singing

             from the shadowed ring of trees

that is this door where we were carried

             by the body’s music toward

the moon dragging its breath across

            the face of night into that other

door that takes its place inside

            the body deep in the lacing

forest that has been there all along

            this window that makes of its pane

a music this door that opens

             to the same illusions from which

you and I suffer this poem

             blossoming body into

one enormous wilderness