The Last Day Of December
We feed the cow
then shoot her between the eyes.
We collect her blood in buckets.
You drink a handful, encourage
me to do the same.
Our sex is a universe away.
You kiss my breasts and belly,
tongue sparrow fast.
You love me with the pace
of a wild thing, and I love you back,
until the night is dead quiet
and even the ghosts are sleeping.
I remind you of the goats in the field that,
last year, held our wedding rings
on their horns.
We need to clear the snow,
dig up their bones, hang them
in bunches from the porch to craft
music with the January storms.
Our love makes even the moon shy,
and she hides the stars behind her back.
Afterwards, we talk of summer days
when things will be different.
When I will walk with more concentration,
one hand always on my belly.
Today you will sleep late
for the first time since the snow came.
I will kiss the silk of your smile
and stroke your tangle of hair,
following the migration of silver,
as it begins from the roots.