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.