Today's poem is by Katherine Smith


We sleep so naturally,
arms unsheathing our hungry bellies,
crevices wrapped in heavy tendrils

of scent. Thin bones threaded
through damp hair, we pluck
from the body, blue jean, t-shirt,

a blue cotton skirt. We breathe out
everything that isn't us to leaf-strewn
pathways, fold each other

like crushed origami to earth.
Knead bodies like a dough of flame,
rise. Like bread

torn from the loaf, each undoes
his wrought self, takes to bed
tenderness that falls apart: not

muscled black Percherons
whose fleshy tread seeds the harvest
of pock-marked fields. Not blue

trout brushing reckonable fins,
dropping amber eggs among
the moss-covered stones of cold rivers.

Hibernating wolves and bears
released to the cave's dark loam,
heady with sweet multiplication.

Copyright © 2014 Katherine Smith All rights reserved
from Woman Alone on the Mountain
Iris Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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