Limes hang yellowing —
they could be her feet
Sugar paper legs slipping up from them,
into the pussywillow, sweet basil, and fennel-green.
Wakeful vanilla sleeps at her waist,
sews a white heron into her skin —
As if it were a gown.
The latin sun, like a simple moon,
makes silken dresses
out of worms up from the earth.