Just as the sun bows out the last of her day, hinting dapples
of residue light -- just as the wicker of shadows ache for fox-nose,
beetle-shell, bat, so I hope for you. I am bedded in tree
root, blanketed in autumn’s loss so I have comfort, of a kind.
Warm with the worms, my cheeks awake beneath the dally
of centipede feet, I watch her; giant ball of fire. She has burned
herself up with these shining hours. A turn from the moon;
time for things that blink in too much light to have ease
for their eyes -- open them wide, instead of all this sideways
peeping. Just as she vanishes over the curve of the earth, just
as she has gone again to wait for Phaethons steeds so I
wonder if tomorrow will be the morning that I wake in a cradle of
your chest. Till then I have crooks of gnarly wood to brace
my neck; twigs to tremble love you’s in the leaves. Just as you
had me to hold you once, you’d find me still, if you could learn
to look at leaf-mould; leave the light.