Cover the head of the day
in lemon silk.
Meet the morning river
white as mist turning the plums
black. The yearling bear
makes his spots with milk
as mountains mark each
tree with fresh rust,
clean against the squall
from the south.
Spin the day down
crumbling numb steps.
Drop your spots but don’t
forget your name:
most tenderly take the
teeth of your own family.
Past are the days of new
sneakers, fresh music, belief
in boy-band radio: now be
the most careful with the teeth
of your own mouth. Don’t
tell on yourself.
Sing songs betwixt the
olive and the oil. Don’t tell him.
Sharks can smell your
hair dye in the water, the way
you scraped your knee and
a kind woman helped
opened her purse for a
band-aid, you’ll be ok—
don’t cry my river
dolphin, cover the head of the day.
