21.

This harvest is the sap that moves in us,

Rose, maple, our lust and thoughts arise

From the seasons. Tonight spring is in your eyes

And your soul comes from the juices of flowers

Pine, crabapple, cedar all scented your hair

Draped and raised the wind shaking the trees.

You have risen from the forest floor

And my fingers are ivy that run:

The deer hiding in the brush. This cannot be

And seems as ludicrous as goddesses

And gods shifting, transforming, shovelling

Coal in a dream like a steam engine.