like butter or rolling into deer grove

Here my sister
walk the elevated trails
green and you
now with child.

Don’t cry I said
you never did.

Here
blanketed
we slid onto him,
lower than his dead grandmother, and lower than his knees on the pine needles. The trees, unable to
imagine
or reveal
the mantis rose we formed
tinged by shadows
our arms and legs
untwirling in the late afternoon, evening,
still unable to
imagine
ever
the
ball of earthworms, the stain of chains - tower of toys,
bones, new
white lines
held tight in the glee of uncertainty.

The way we gasped
when he pulled us down.

One soft pyramid mirroring the grate
his lap with its grassy knoll
the crows: the
sky’s dark chariot.

Then we swam past the shoals to the island
were he tied flowers around your waist.

And after
the reclining of dusk
your eyes
doing that howling motion
the sudden sweetness that happened like bread and chances.