Facing away from the cavewoman pietà, this bone-wielding caveman tears open his own abdomen, but he’s less brutal than he seems. Candor sometimes demands that you de-form yourself a bit.
THREE SEASONS
Panting at twilight
the fox halts, and bends his neck:
“one white bone is yours.”
You shook me half awake look!
with cold, open, empty hands
* * *
Beneath your mirror,
light, scarf, gloves, clock, sonnet book,
a deer tibia—
you beam, and gaze into it
Lose her to God for a while
* * *
Four trees fell.
She swings
through fresh-mown sunshine, smiling
over fitful seeds
slight as a hummingbird skull
light as a hummingbird dream
(For all the entries in this series, hit the “looking up” tab, or read the gargoyle FAQ.)
Quid Plura? 
