persephone, don't you think it's you who've taught me
this deadening lack, or logic of desire?
when leaves fall and the black waves break down
they're reaching out for you
when seasons reduce green flesh to a deathgrip in the briar
when the fields are razed and bodies buried like seeds
all things lie in wait for you as long as they know how
but, impatient, climb back out of sleep transformed
pale venus prevents you and jealously mistakes the harvest
leaving a dumb hunger in your ambulance
your eyes so sloe-almond, gimlet, doe-revised
with dew
no storm can delight the starlings from the hawthorn's arms
tonight, nor startle me from your side
but come spring, among the crouching grass and milkweed,
no man recalls you
