Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Paul Nelson Species We didn't know to think, those first nights, it was that luminous, moonlight playing on rounds of hip, breast, biceps, glans. We said our first words: "Stars," then "eyes." And when palm fronds, twisting in dawn Trades, loosed rags of light upon our briefly sated flesh, it made no difference to the others, stepping with cloven hooves, broad pads, flying above or crawling to or from the sea through rafts of wondrous bladder wrack, that we hung back in shade, not shame, to slow day's shaping so many others. Next Poem
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