Leave an explosion of supple purple trumpets           in a thinning penumbra around you—clots of bunched ink           exploding in ecstatic asterisks.Leave sons in cozy classrooms with bottles of glue           and tubes of applesauce, their fingers unstickingfrom where they have until now clung to your clumsied legs.           Leave the haystack smell of their hairand leave off powering down the mountain, glide           with the heedless waterways, become cloud coldand crystalline alongside the hulled motorcars           sulking past you, grudging you spacein their petrol deathways. Leave off restraint,           sprout branch upon branch of unusable blossom,pink excess dragging your limbs           to earth, to loll upon it tongue-like;leave them what you learn to hear: the speech of trees           raking the sky’s woolly underbelly, the muddy songsof worms—loam’s fleshsprouts—and naked cicadas           curled in clods; give leaveas they burrow into your proximate body;           maggots already at work, purpling your comestiblethighflesh; grubs tunneling through watery skull           hash, moaning their mortal charms.