Last Bite to Eat
A deer lies dead with a branch of alder in mouth
and she wakes after the same dream about the same baby
she keeps dropping from her same arms.
Characterized by breaking rocks into smaller rocks,
she sits next to lake crushed beer can near brown legs
waits for storm to start or pass.
He shows with flowers, divides mosaic into steep canyon
and steel hurt; gets her body from cliff into water
with an easy smile, a warm hand on lower back.
Arrive home to shower on,
steam rising like prayer-hummed-valley.
She enters as slope against him, wetness
instead of moment caught by glare of ritual.
They search for a town where people wear horses as shoes,
where light cracks under pressure of gray and isn’t afraid.
New to feelings that break before the bow,
they begin by producing vibrations artificially.
They lie in bed like rolling weather in October this
back and forth they cannot see their blankets as the
heap at foot of bed; warm only where skin is
touching skin is touching swell hip the curve of thigh
his body leaning light into her. To bother arranging,
to savor the quiet of his tongue, to vex lips like blood
murmuring beneath the surface as way of arriving
home. Their bodies fall into familiar pattern follow
movement like cobweb like hand reaching like final
resting place near left breast. She slides head lower
just under chin and he wraps her like sediment
carried down ridge or lisp of smoke.
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