darling, life is not in my hands

outside the bittersweet turns orange
in the tide, birches like zebra fish

the woods are underwater
bewitched, bitter pulse counting your blood

I cannot promise very much
I cannot promise

but lie still with me and watch

the wind’s not off the ocean
-sleeping, grunting, sighing

and sometimes, sometimes
in the room crying like a wolf
a long time, time

what can I give you
but an ark between the eyes
for when the world goes wild

as pheasants, pulled through the mulch
and foaming, flood of scrub pines
in pink dread strands

I will press my finger here
to the temple of time

where we pool
innocuous in the secret dye