In the increasingly convincing darkness The words become palpable, like a fruit That is too beautiful to eat.
The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes
The winter does what it can for its children.
The first year was like icing. Then the cake started to show through.
To the poet as a basement quilt, but perhaps To some reader a latticework of regrets.
Silly girls your heads full of boys