WHEN THE MOON IS YOUR FRIEND YOU NEED NO MAN

Skunk skirting the birches--
funky beauty, each rounded
assemblage of earthly flesh
coming to nimble points
and paws,

quite subtle clefts of nose,
peculiar morsels that you know
what to to do with,

fireflies the headlights
blinking against your chalk
and charcoal,

your carefully kept
levels of threat,
your strangely fresh
and untouched
complete perfection.