Underneath a willowtree
twists your summerbeard
with your winterbeard
entwined
You think your greenthoughts
of gnarl, leg, branch, and twig
of foretime kisses under moonlight
of nowtime creakings under foglight
You grasp with groaning fingers
after a moth in flight
and catching him
lick the dust from his wings
You crunch with rotten legs
through leaves in swirl
and crushing them
soak sunlight from their blood
Underneath your willowtree
your bark whitens
and in breathing out
unwinds
