Poetry, Vol. 2.3, Sept. 2008
On a dirt road in their love she feels the deer run. Moon glazes them, dazes grape arbor and pelt. He devours her just as she consumes him. Owls hoot, iced in billion-year-old light. The dark is a gourmand. It fingers the red maple’s coarsely-toothed pubis. Licks the sycamore and tulip, swallows the bee winds. On a dirt road after their love, pumpkins bloat the fields between corn shocks, dogwoods gnaw their eyes. Then they hide.