I work to the tune of your aurora.
The floor wears away imperceptibly
as a woman whose dreams have
been munched by the wolf in her words.
The tundra of my inexperience thaws.
On the know-it-all breeze,
laughter that grips my heart
like a hand.
When the pollen heard you weep,
you were sainted by the grass.
Your greens, your purples.
Your lilting light that
whips through my space
Your song is dangerous,