K,
I am rooted in the Northwoods in the bone of a mountain. Red pines, lakes no larger than seagulls, lakes much larger than seagulls, black bears, blueberries, theaters of oak & deep deep shadows falling into everything, dancing in full nights to Brian Eno and Elton John emitting somewhere in the limpid wood / in the ways we talk and the ways we wish we could. Somewhere in the afternoon I woke awake to you breathing like a flower dreaming & I miss you or I miss what I make of you or I miss what I’ve MADE INTO YOU--a mighty fine catch / and this is the poem where I gut it, this is the hole where I rut it / this is the place in my hands that holds water when clasped / where I drown it.
M.











