FORCE FEEDINGS FROM THE POETRY ARCHIVES, PART 1:
the cruellest month
the august trees were already
leaving by september
when I autumned into love with you.
I pictured you in green
slipping through the forest
hiding among the oaks
like a frightened deer
or escaping into the woods
with your secrets
climbing into the longrooted branches.
wintering in this cold country
I picked icicles like fruit
looking for a sign of you.
when spring came, my icicles
turned and ran
through my fingers
and my torn hands healed.
the forest in green
ran me through, living
while my small love died.
(1993)