INDIGO

INDIGO

is harvested best after the morning and mosquitos

unearth themselves from her mouth of deep sea,

echos

of cicada and their dry whistle of exoskeleton

fastens to the indigo stalk.

In Hindi the word ferment is fully toasted.

Build a fort of dry flower

and inside tell me of your sin bundle.

The crush of husk.

The family dog who withered here

her brown coat kinked in ringlet and grease

like the starch of trout and orange

sun beam, small pulpo

of white ash. This is my heft

of cotton, work in the shoulders

the saddening of indigo blooms in vats, these living

bodies of color.