You said:

The last thing I remember you were a girl and your breasts were small.

She said:

Then everything you knew about me died when you became my brother. Now my hair and my eyes have fallen out. My breasts have turned into chalk hills.

You said:

But when I taste your nipple sister chalk turns into milk then into blood. Do you remember I swallowed your toes in bathtubs while July and August rode black mares and red and white Yamaha motor-bikes up Green Mountains? Fumes, grass and gnats filled your nose.

She said:

You sneezed. Mother waved delicate arms like moth-wings from the Green Valley below.

You said:

Home children, home, she huffed from the brick wood cabin chimney

She said:

nestled hidden in the forest surrounded by winding whirling creeks

You said:

and heavy black bear trails where the chimney smoked --

She said:

puffed-puffed away like grandfather's pipe

You said:

until fireflies burned out of kerosene

She said:

and fell out of the sky.

You said:

Then everything smelled like maple wood with closed eyes.

You said:

Sister, why did you become a mule?

She said:

I became a mule, brother, because that was the time.

You said:

What time was that?

She said:

The time my hands turned into rotting hooves dripping black oil as blacksmith hands hammered away at my soles.

You said:

Yet everything you taught me about mules died when I became you.

She said:

I remember that day, too, brother, like walking through spider webs.

You said:

All of a sudden I was barefoot.

She said:

I kicked the blacksmith in the face and galloped away as a moth.

You said:

You flew faster than the Big Bang.

She/You said:

So fast and wild we turned into a black sparrow.

She/You said:

Mother got so angry she smashed her man-fists against the wind like a God dam.

She/You said:

Stop them! Stop them! She shouted.

She/You said:

But we got away.

She/You said:

Until a wild gorilla woman-beast materialized and squashed us against her chest.

She/You said:

We wrestled ourselves out of her skin

She/You said:

and grew new wings

She/You said:

then ripped off our legs

She/You said:

sewed them under our eyes

She/You said:

so our hearts would never be separate again.

She/You said:

Then we heard a cry.

She/You said:

The splatter of blood.

She/You said:

But it was too late.

She/You said:

Time began to grow outside of us again.

She said:

Your wings broke off.

You said:

Your hooves too.

She said:

Black oil began to ooze out of my feet

You said:

where light angels burst out smiling, waving, until you fell asleep.

She said:

I dreamt of grandfather, fireflies mating, mother kissing my eyelids,

You said:

softly,

She said:

and the smell of kerosene.

You said:

Then everything you knew about yourself died

She said:

when I became your mother.

She said:

Brother, I died, but only for a moment.

You said:

Sister, you're leaking milk on my chest.

She said:

I know brother. It's time again.

You said:

To separate?

She said:

No, to open my boy's eyes.

You said:

You realize he will be hungry

She said:

and thirsty too.

You said:

What will you feed him?

She said:

I will feed him chromosomes.

You said:

And what will you call Closed Eyes?

She said:

I'll call him Universe.