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Bring me twigs of fire
from the foot of the tree already burning

torch at the outskirts reaching
where we banked an auto
up on a series of sensual rocks

moss sprouting, ghost lambs
moving over the pastures, sprung
from a touch of milk
a helpless engine
the hidden fury of quiet grasses
across the street from an ice cream shop
and the flash of
nubile hands taut calves
dipping reach into myriad freezers

I slept against the boundaries of stone
woke up with my hands burned by figurine branches
walls of white wrapped waffle cones
calling hunger mine
and the milling of kind old women among the thermostats.