And Want Shall Shun You
       

Again your body is staggering
in the phase-out
of the olive moths,
October of the grizzled petals
and one tree
all roughed-up and rootlets,
schlock maples here
and on the hill, polite
birch like a believer autumnal
but wasted by plains.
In the work of destruction
is the strange wash of intension,
hatches of winged ants,
the fresh monstrous wheat.
We sleep on the prairie—
with wants, with beastly wants.

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Copyright © 2015 Kimberly Burwick All rights reserved
from Good Night Brother
Burnside Review Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission