Picnic With My Youth
The forest has become a graveyard
and I've lost myself
in the umber eyes of a hungry doe.
Her timid nibble at my hostas
makes me envy their bells against her lips.
I spread my skirt,
white on the ground around my knees -
a new-moon picnic in ivory
at your grave side.
Dew-silvered spider strands dance
across your name
where wasted dandelion seeds sway,
stuck like an unwanted melody
in the mind of the maker.
in the darkness I reach for you
and sing you to sleep.