On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.

O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
  Shine, be increased;
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
  Wane, be at rest.

A pair of lips blanketed by blood stammer.
Once for surprise, once for defeat.
The woman’s pulse quickens
when her disguise, the glitz and glamour,
dulls and her mystery slips from her
like a satin robe as she surrenders her intellect
to the hope of intimacy.

autumnal leaves scent your hair
weaving the reverie of stranger summers
of smoke and arboreal decay
bone-fingers, ceramic mug
shivering *** under the wool
   these septembers bewitch me,
   their wincing smile-
   how good it is
   to feel so sad.