Sky streaked with azure and bloodred.
No wind.
No oar.
That memory swift-hooved, tramples itself,
the cart wheel rutting in the ditch
as if the spokes
would turn backward. That sound
racks my sleep.
Quiet now.
And I took my own dove
in bridal raiment to meet Achilles.
And you.
—No wind.
No oar.
A mouse-tail mattered less to me
a withered leaf
that borne
on a fast wind
becomes a boat, a furrow
in the wild water—
a breath
then sinks.
Less than that, that took
my love, my thrush
my heart forfeit.
And you, it was you
took her from me!
No god cares where I lay my head
I don’t care where I make my bed
My bond unmade where my sweet deer lies.