With angry brown eyes she threw fistfuls of flowers at me
but it was I who was Icarus and she the sun
so through the fogged window I wondered of the cold earth and its children
as the colors of the autumn slowly came undone,
and it was white all around with death to bear witness
a hollow scream echoing from red dusk till the dawn
to slither between the rich cedar logs of our cabin
and permit the candlelight to this, flicker upon:
from lonely villages she paddled her needle-sharp canoe
only to etch the nose unto the cracks of my chest
but beneath these woolen blankets by the stone's dancing fire
did I embrace her and lay the past to rest.
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