was there a forest for you?

leaving dirt smudges on 
your ankles & neck like a lover's mark--

mouth making tree rings in you--

your roots malignant & thick--
bursting from in between bone--

did you yank stones from the earth?

soil beneath fingernails--

was that you who brought dusk too early
in march when we were long ready for
summer?

oh grandmother are your stockings
made of moss now?

& did you know how much
the earth yearned for alone
time with you--

to strip you of shoes & 
drape your socks over the fallen log--

god comes into focus like evening--

tangerine & peach-fleshed--

will you come home too late?

will Mother worry?
her apron tied to the front door--
her body-- a moth hungry for a month 
to bump into--

for now we have the congregation--

the trees to remember each other by
while the green lilts-- fearful 
of still-melting snow--

wipe your hands on my jeans--

i can hide your un-clean in me--

your un-tethered pagan tendencies--

who can help but worship a forest
unveiling herself to you

oh alone--

who were you alone?

was there a rosary to pull from the reeds--

echo of rifles & deer hoof--
the winter is not as long as they said
it would be--

the war cabins of valley forge
sink into the ground--

sometimes i imagine that your bones
are smuggled back to
me in the trees--

at i walk across this creek
on your fallen clavicle--

if they ask me if i saw you
here i will say nothing--

this is between us--

i'll hold your secrets
under the river rocks where
they will be unwritten--

clear as blood--

i know 
i'm making you up--

to tell you like a story--

shake the trees if 
you had a forest--

wipe your hands on me--