Dusting a rose
dissecting a heart. There was wilder-
ness in the woods.
I cannot touch you
O, wood sage
you were so ephemeral.
Your hands were
knitting a bright wound in the air.
Where was the moon?
Not a kiss,
the prodigal sun
wants a death wish of a canary.
The snow on the
eyes. I wished I had
met you earlier.