big sandwich

I forget if it’s wasps and figs that pucker 
together in a death life grip

Birth and sex inside the suck of fruit guts

Winged bug busting free covered in the fecund 
creation dust and flying fertilizer to the next 
budding lobed protube

Finding the dark gripping tunnel in which to birth 
in reverse, birth then reverse, 
die for spawn like salmons and any other parent

I googled the question for a kid only a month ago

To confirm or deny the wonder 
for fear of getting it wrong and landing gullible 
at the foot of the internet’s natural wisdom

But already I forgot the answer 

Whatever, it’s the same light magic that I make with girls at the river when it’s just the gift of amber rocks under clear green sun water and our laughter dripping on a big sandwich