Enter the Water

But don’t stray as far as the swamp wrecks
Bottle green ducks slain on pilings
Mud dusted and bricking the dock rope
The reed clashing and a cast of the wind
Speckling the frame of the eyes with bent lashes
The scene hurtles toward a reckoning with
the vengeance of one last blackberry winter.
Afterwards you will not be as sure of May
It seems the warming could always turn back
To the sea. If you are cold, hold my hand

Advice of the Sun Bride

I do not like horses
for riding, only mounting
their backs makes it hard
to see their eyes to know
their tracks and they are not
one with us then but we are
always behind, we cannot
see what they see or what
they are to themselves.