Fear

 into any day
    might walk a shape

vaporous like tea genies
    or the scarves of dancers
          or the seventy-nine shadows
                of Jupiter’s moons

        we draw constellations in the stars
                               navigation lines
                         between sure pricks of light
                   but only jellyfish
                       rise in cnidaria blooms
                              softly gluttonous and blind                

              what I mean is,
           amorphery’s womb
                           bred ghosts
                                and tumours 

                                   our fear of shapes 
                                       that can’t be named