poems that kill me by mark yakich in a book called Unrelated Individuals Forming a Group Waiting to Cross:

Fable

Once upon a time
there was a lonely fox; she was
lonelier than a wooden rowboat in a field.

She happened to come to a hill,
and fell in love with the first wolf she saw.
Already she loved its long lashes

and its freckled wrinkles,
but the eyes stopped her.
Apart from God nobody ever

found those eyes as beautiful
as did this childlike beast.
So at night the fox went up the hill,

stopped before the set of eyes,
and never moved from there anymore.
She had wanted a life of chasing butterflies,

but instead stood by one mustard iris.
When, at last, the wolf opened its mouth
it was not to kiss the fox

but to let the world crawl in.

Nocturne

If time is the sky,
Then moments are understandable

Autumns, the leaves split
Seconds, and sorrow is
Undressing the neighbor boy

In a single breath.
If such gusty emotion is

The landscape, words make
Only the mountains, and the valleys
Are just gorgeous inversions.

And if the head sounds
Like that, each drop of rain

An amorous dialogue,
Then leave tonight,
Between the wave and the lantern,

Every particle
Rowing.



[mark yakich forgive me for sharing. its out of my control. its out of my hands entirely -- c.m.]