Outside, a July sky,
above the weedy meadow,
amid stalks of golden rye,
I bow to you. “Hello,

from what cold, clear bottle
did you pop — from which
mother’s tongue-tie unknot?
Belladonna, bewitch

the moon. Stop daylight
burning. Ashy blonde
beauty, by the night-
shade, you abscond

with my heart. A-
trophy by dumb
fingers at play
pick-pick til numb,

black, soiled nails.
Purple stem.
Paper veil.
River-worn hem.

Felled stitch.
Raw edge.
Mouth itch.
Black dredge.

Pleased
to
eat
you.

---

pick pick
echoes
tick tick
daylight burns
ashes ashes
falling
down

the sky is
so blue
against you
yellow-
brown
nearly
sepia

from what vintage
from what
cold clear bottle
did you pop
from cherry cola
from spicy mustard
or from

The mother
not too soon
to forget
belladonna
beneath
the stars
dark green

shoots
arrow
to rib
poison
to vein
atroph–
y

by the
nightshade
you are
so good
goodness knows
with love
comes

sacrifice
contentment
with twilight
lying
in wait
slipping

off
shoulders
your dress
to the ground