Come,
lie down against my breast.
Don’t speak again for only I can hear
above the slow breath of roots and stones,
bass notes of ashed time and
bloodbeat of earth’s slow, slow pirouette.
I embrace you,
lust greenclad, pine-tinged
—your irrefutable suitor—
and bed you down whitely
beneath a smooth, star-webbed cloak.
Draw the mist-smoke curtain
across break-blue sky and I’ll cover you
to keep pogonip from biting your cheeks
and sundogs from nipping your eyes.
I’ll wrap you in a shawl braided of bird-song
and morning thread, tasseled with sun-twists,
knot the end at your bosom as you exhale,
and you’ll sleep this breathless cold
forever.
Published in “H.O.D.” (Handfull Of Dust) October 2011 and in “Howl” January 2014
