Loveletters for H.

She is such
A pretty lonely,
But much too far
For tender
To mend
Accumulated stitches
Dropped from time.

We share the scare
And swamp,
Plunging into
Marshy edges
Where heavy-headed
Grass waves like feathers.
We come away covered
With sticky seeds
And thirst —
Vehicles for wild.

She takes up
Her bow,
Pulls my heartstrings
Taut,
And plays me
For a fool.
Nine geese,
A sharp dark angle
Drawn across the softness
Of season’s end.

I try to cast
My hands
Into this light
That lays bare my bones,
That they might
Traverse the dawn
To touch her face,
And kiss the wind
That it might dance
Miles to her,
To make a catalyst
Of her tears.

Her vulnerable voice,
Singsong echoes
Back at me
Through late summer’s
Wistful serenades.

And in the dark
Where all toss solitary,
Moonfall shivering
Through rippled glass,
I fetch her to me.
Wrap her in incorporeal
Motherquilt,
Dry fingers
Smooth back her honey hair,
And sing her back to sleep.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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