She wore mountains round her neck
(“No, lower.”)
Peaked with scented minarets
(Softer and sweeter than strawberries,
grander than a psalm.)
In the gulch between words
I offered you a prayer
and you wounded me with a poem.
I watched you move
like a summer night
to disrobe the cover
of your collected works
-a landscape of fire and blood
that beats a wardrum
deep in my hungry river.
Your petals pressed against my lips
to drown , to drown
gladly.
She wore mountains round her neck,
and I wore her ankles with a smile.