Quiet, girl, don’t startle him. If I trip
and he turns, if I cough he’ll look.
Look at my man, tower of spine, legs
fresh stalks and hair curling from wet heat
down here. All the dead dream
of home but just a glimpse of heel
made me forget I woke up
in a steaming pit. My love,
imagine a door ahead wants
to be opened. Chase that copperhead
creasing the gravel before you. Behind you
is a demon, a tiger, a mirror. Follow
the scent of coals on cut grass. Hum
a dirge to the dirt as I track your back.
Look for the portal covered in vines. Oh gods!
That face—it’s all right, it’s all right;
once you’re here it’s not that hard to stay.
I could feel myself changing anyway. Get off
the ground. You have olive trees to tend.
The vines are cinching closed
and the dogs have come round.
***
Preview image by Pink Sherbet Photography