12/15/2016

the world goes brittle
in December, month like a
doorstop made of ice.
if a heart cracks now
it does so to its tapered
root. what is slammed
shatters. what is struck
turns to dust. the dry air
begs for the longest kiss.
listen to my plan--if we
draw close breast and
breast like shivering birds
do and breathe like we
are dancing in an old library
and touch the way pine
needles rub their thin
fingers together in the
wind, if we draw this circle
tightly so perhaps the
morning will find us buried
under a white blanket
alive and grown wise and
full on the delicate edge
of love.