Lanterns, vague branching paths,
(hard edges frozen over black bark),
a song with so much purpose it stumbles
all night among the undergrowth
which crumples between well meaning mouths.
Break off (along the prints of my little rubber boots).
Then the clearing, the naked canvas,
then the velvet and endless white, (stars dripping
through Danae’s one cracked window),
and our two perfect bodies
(lying in their angels), our two perfect
bodies, carving out their right place.
No more snowballs, no more fistfights,
feel our antlers unlock, do away
with the tedious violence of boyhood.
Distant Song, (two hours later
you push yourself upright and
smile down at me. I open my eyes.
Look at my skirt.
Velvet, white.
Aren’t I so pretty
out here?)