#66

Come from a small town. Boys and girls in every forest. Tina, sunrise hair, stepping to the box for mail. And Michael, who meets her, artist hands unsteady holding. I thought, in those days, of doppelgangers, multiple perspective of the one. Father bending over comic books to sell. The snakes that slept in the rocky staircase above the green. Mother, who read there, egg timer on the ledge.

Sleep with music playing. Imagine. Transforming swans and tricksters. A sister, hand on bridle, the horse walking over leave-strewn paths. Familiar. A glass coffin beneath the earth. Let him sleep. And turn away. I felt, their jeers like stones, desire. To climb the wood's tallest tree. To live as birch and oak, the birds and dryads family.

This time, arm-in-arm on busy Friday, the cold led to couples dancing. And I departed. The evening light on terracotta pots, sleeping leaves and yawning mouths. Disrobe and then: the shroud of sheet some king's regalia. Error-less, while the others work for land. Micah too, the flame of eyes that shine. The earth razed and ready for planting. Burrow in. Tuck Joyce under arm and press tight in the dark for warmth.