Footnoting Luce

Irigaray’s angel = mobility, multiplicity.

The cleft1 in the birch’s otherworldliness.

When I settle in, all the bees

release their sore honey.

I am fungible2—kneel near

the several chanterelles, frilled

for their accelerating de-

composition. Like sets of lips

a stacked anonymity.

Ibid the ibid. A dragonfly hovers its

simulacrum3—enters the fungi—

thrilling to thrust us

the ibid, op cit, to auto-

erotically, see the all of us.

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