the fir trees glare down at me
from afar, from where I sit on the porch,
leafing through old letters you sent
to me. my tears blot the page.
I sit on my feet,
humming a melody. I can’t think
when the wind is moaning like
that;
moaning like a river frothing
at the mouth. moaning like
some giant dog.
you came up the mud bank,
your hair glistening,
as if you had just gone for a swim.
I know you were at home,
taking a shower,
getting ready for the day.
you smile at me, and words fall prettily
from your purple mouth.
I catch a scent of your perfume
in the palm of my hand.
