Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Under the Apple Boughs

And as we fucked behind the yurt the sky
was ribboned green and gold. I see her face
framed in the Northern Lights. And I can taste
September in her kiss. I'm not sure why

the emerald snakes curled in between the clouds
in August. In that halo, something fell
between us, although then I couldn't tell
you what it was. But I know this much now -

Aurora Borealis is the Dawn
of the North Wind, and when Boreas sings
his notes are all in minor key. The things
I felt that night were votive to his song,

and ancient gods are hungry. Now I know
which dawns will break, and which will bring me snow.

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