I Hold Your Body Up

I Hold Your Body Up

I hold your body up to the sun,
an alluring white slide for the

microscope of the universe, and
there I see the blood of your sex,

the cells of your energy, the breath
who ebbs and flows as though you

knew better than all of us these waters
in which we flounder, and when I

twist your arms for a better angle,
it is then your face smiles down

to say, "My man of clay, how much
can be examined? How much should

be known?" In our next life you surely will
be the one who lifts my body to the sun.