what would we do without

the tuin with the glowing witch hazels? you blend with the twigs and the leaves that grow in a golden pirouette-- grow with the golden mean --

you tell me we are like lichens, interdependent and in love,

you smile as you smell, not roses, but the cunning papierstruikjes. you follow me with a doting smile, glitter trailing your feet.

i hold your hand and glide through the Calm Wood’s tuin, the Calm Wood’s squeaking forest: the bamboo clutters and sings for us, a rhythmic song for our new love, our marriage: proficiat! says the birds as they wallow by, the butterflies follow too, they sing, “Proficiat!” and they toast, “Schol!” and they stomp, “Gefeliciteerd!”

the most beautiful man, where the angels brought you to me, god, brought you to me: you kiss my cheeks, said, you’ll always be my daddy,

you kiss my cheeks, said, you’ll always stay by my side. witch hazels grow from your ears, lichens pool my tongue, your hands are warm despite the cold, I slip, full puddles, like a half-moon that’s folding under a full-cloud, or a half-sky, like blood, your blood and my blood, your ***** and my hair -- wrapped with a cord, smothered in dust, smothered in marjoram, smothered in spirit: forever, unbreakable, we’ve consented: we’ve participated in our ritual, breathing, looking, touching, tonguing, together... whenever... whatever we want to do...

a witches scent, following the sneeuwklokkjes, following the pretty dew...

stuffed a witch hazel in my pocket. stole it. toverhazelaar.