lucid dream as transferrable fluid

I'm circumstance, 
inducting good luck 
out of ash snow. 

I'm lull, 
basement pianos
sunk in rhymed windows. 

Sensitive is the cell
that tells you right from wrong. 

Touch the thick hair growing 
on the shower wall. 

Festival, whose god is dead? 
Not mine. 

I'm the prowling countryside. 
I'm the living sculpture, the maternal sigh
enveloping 

The built world 
The uninhabitable world
The male world. 

Under ammonite stars 
Under amniotic waves 

Alert for parousia, 
which always arrives. 

My god is of us 
unveiling by the hundreds. 

Note: this poem is in conversation with Luce Irigaray’s 1982 lecture “Love of the Other,” reproduced as an essay in the 1984 book An Ethics of Sexual Difference.