Giant manzanita likes ridges that are hot as a griddle.
No wonder the trunks and branches
look like melted candle wax,
a purple so dark, eggplants sister shade,
the drippings from some black mass on a devil's altar.
Twisting scary corkscrew limbs that lace overhead,
a child-eating thicket, grim as Hansel and Gretl's,
or the one where Dorothy was carried away
by the witch's flying monkeys...
But actually:
they are so lovely that
it's impossible to keep my hands off.
Palm and fingers lingering to savor
every satin curl and and curve
of sun fevered flesh.
The fretted twigs above where the sky leaks through:
my blue-paned black-mullioned canopy
that dapples me in leopard spots.
sprawled here easy, loose, and lost.
No comments:
Post a Comment