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Starlings
You rush to hold night
between your knees
a darkness and blood
on your coat is starlings
rising and falling
silky, shallow breathing
you choke on
stream rocks black
as oil
slick and bunched
along the water line
How salty—
this out of a twisted horn
Willing
Lie down, make a bough of
shells and seaweed come to rest
the final spike's a wobbly tree
bound by cord, half the mother
the other in secret waits
a shoreline held and broken
sleep is soft
An early spring—
Snow across the backs of deer.
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