After a night spent cradling my bawling desire

            - how much we want from things and experiences: cities in rain, schools of fish swimming in coral bays, fossils dug from the flinty backs of high mountains, beautiful bodies of lovers to enter and leave as if they were cafes in Parisian sunlight, a taste of plums under the tongue, camphor smoke perfuming the hair, dancing with pomp like peacocks -

I wake up, brush my teeth, bring a kettle on the stove to boil, and break eggs over a sizzling griddle for breakfast, all the while humming Blake: "Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O clouds unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire!"