Silviculture
Muck spectacular!
In the ankle-lisping scrub-shrub
I test the delirious
trees.  How long
 
will they clamor to embower
me?  The rain
equivocates, wanting to rise
as steam before it falls as water
 
& extracts my promise
to be hotter after.
I promise to be hotter after.
I gather the willow’s weepings
 
in my sleevelessness &
discipline myself to believe
in a destiny they sketch.  In
this first dalliance
 
with the capacity to leaf, my waist
plays celibate.  Into
the piney widowmaker’s warning
that lust domesticates,
 
I infuse my haze-day
dream: This rain is a home.
That lake is a room.
The minnows are windows
 
in my every wall.  I swoon.
How will I ever set fire
to the woods
if it continues to be as wet
 
as this?  Winsome
duplicity!  Around a twitchy center
the willow branches
steer & swat me.
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