buried ice & buttons
the boy leans to water
his fingers tremble
what remembers
the piercing
the first
light
thru its
skin
was that
the yearning
the absence that
leaves two wounds
~
she pulls
wool
a pink
coat
~
on the wheat field roads
she nuzzles
close
if we fell they would
catch us wrap us
in milk & sugar
& we would
never die,
my love
~
he has never shot a bird
but once a dove fell on his porch
it bounced twice, its feathers powdery
~
could we
skate
away
now
~
he wants it
to stop
the ice
melt
but
it
will
be
what
it is
not
if
~
she has been composing
the song for forty-six years
she drags a stick along the ice
imagining the sound leads the fish
to warmer stars & the green twig trembling
the far shore awake: the thread perfect:
she only lost one button
Richard Lance Williams
Posted over on More Poetry
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