happy merry

Phantom woman guides me past 
a fence stacked of stone
to the spread feet 
of a power line tower.
Scaffolded light,
buzzing dimly;
ringing through the ears.
Her eyes milky.
Her face carved with 
winter dust.


The sky continues to isolate,
she builds more silence in the cupping
of two shaking hands,
brings them to my distant face.
From far far away I see my own arms
disembodying–
hers now.
Blooming consume.
Static fog.

A night now here and pressing both of
our backs closer until we touch chests
and heave scream.

Her heavy palms calm me.
The slick road
like a summer hipbone
drags me down the hill,
makes our quiet slippery.

Mourning doves rise 
at the piston spark of my 
belated breathing;
disruptive, make me so known.

Four eyes scratch the tree line.
Slow turn
back to each other.

Electricity flickers in the house. 

Pine tree fed
by plastic water basin. 

We have started to bleed.
We think the wires will transfer
our spontaneous wounds to the middle of the country.