barefoot in the snow, pre-sun. icewater-drawn dawn baths & midnight
velvet across a slightly shattered mirror. dreamcatching by hand. from
a hammock by the water, she fig-picks the yellow twilights out of late
August, pulls laughter out of the lake with old cane poles. trawling
for blackberry-stained summer-skins, bartering breadcrumbs for bor-
rowed affection. a peeling front porch in grey reflects moonset on nights
as transparent as mother’s white nightgown (like the one i fished from
the rag box to cloak the scarlet & the steam, that first time). like head-
lights through dark bedroom windows. like January frost on fever.