love poem

I am in my mother's teal nightgown.
Watch it.
Watch the white belt hit my ribs.
The slender smell.
It gives off.
Then your left hand slipped
me apart so I put this on.

I think of your latest request and a cherry cupboard.
I put you in the cupboard. In there
with my mittens my trousers wine glasses aparrel.

a teal javelina sealed with snow
and my nightgown wearing me, the way
dirt wears the snow and distinguishes it.
I am picking you out beside a black bar
of pine.

You look seemingly for a bull.






snow dressing several compartments,


Your hand is whole with white, cut some,
but softer and farther than roofs.


humming from the casements


And knowing then and then
not knowing like driving
over a hill the white houses notch,
however irregular, they tip over
smoke this time of year.

Cinnamon the kitchen, baklava,
my neices squeezing sugar
in their fists until I taught them.
You can not beleive I taught them.