barrel-stave.

unpacking slipsmooth summer limbs, 

I re-connect
freckle constellations, hoping
to sweep some pale away; and, 
finding sand fleshpressed in
creases, skin retains the taste 

of salt & sweat affection.

hot and languid, they bend 

like jelly, loll

at odd angles, tremor

at touch, but Being craves cozy; so, 

I cradle them close to hope's 

winter chest, bloodless 

water bottles till I stitch them back

to thawing thews, shoulders, hips. 

nickl'd  needles will scar bone, but 

some marks are worth 

the eye smiles I've missed 

these long ice months. 

cold October, I hardly 

remember, though November still stirs 

a soft swamp heart once

muddy
sticky
seething warmth

[in the meantime, I brush
these footsteps from the earth,
set real fire to bridges I've walked.
hold cards close for self-
conservation, ‘cause I’ve seen:
the bootmarks indelible
upon rare orchid petals,
the ice crystals forming on ferns.]