this drama hums birched, blue,
and pine behind winter-closed doors
where raccoons and rabbits still.
i remember the evening’s autumn
cathedral when amber light
massed in prayer above. i
played over the under of your body.
don’t think Nietzsche would be
angry because under
i explored this penumbra’d path
round a temporary pond jewelled
with drake and hen lusty
in spring swell—winter’s death