through the curl of naked leaves,
fell trees sleep in the palm
of my snow tongue.
Where you touch me
I walk along dirt trails and stone
draping the smolder of twilight
over silver pine cone
Cranberry crowns, a slate gray world
atop a fading day
another season comes
Wolves’ hunger, the ravenous dark is a reverent seed
sewn upon the sweet milk
of my breast.
Ribbons of fingers skimming cream thrown walls,
cast crow shadows are lanterns
and you, a purple northern evening.
I long for the way
the white owl sun swells underneath the fog
in a falling sky.
What is it about the slice of winter in the veins that burns
like red fire,
frost on frost kisses
and the numb tingle