at a mysterious beloved
hills descend to her yawning fire
and I rocket to the pines
that slap me down to her embrace
staggering to clearing after clearing
with my crooked mechanical wings
lost for the embrace I gave away
a thousand butterflies
in a long net's fiber optic fleece
that could not guide me
money landing on my beard
without lips
tasting of its abstract dirt
what I can't be
you have captured
in a golden glaze
and what I can
is captured too
in your sleeve of echoes
the root I can clasp
behind the flower
all the future I can follow
is in your furnace bare
and spirit firm.
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