you sailed in the summer with the ground hard beneath your heels,
bare feet grooves lined with dirt and petrichor heavy in your hair and skin,
nails stained dark green, your mouth red with wild raspberries and blood

there was no way you could be touched by the eye-flutter white drifting,
could never be swept away softly by the morning cold fog turned frost
not when sinew and bone and blazing eyes pulls each heave of your chest,
the death-life spindle thread like wildfire grasps your every thundering step
and breaths twine with that vagrant crackling metal beckoning the storm—

just the way you loved everything from the golden dust filling our lungs
to the cuckoo bee in the mud dauber's nest preying on the widow spider

you kept those leaves rippling blithely on their parent branches, you hurtled
and broke and wreaked calamity like the tempest itself at the crown
while water raced through your veins and you became the river rushed;

paper boats nodded and you laughed, your voice echoing wood thrushes
o' wicked darling child of the solstice, with legs cuts from thorns adorned
and far-off mingling lights reflected in your eyes.