Place

Deep South v.3 n.3 (Spring 1997)

Move
down the thin line
of bone white
light to the very base
of the hedges & pines
where I hide;

those arms whose brances
could lick or bite -
You'll see

it all depends on the hole
inside; whether it fills with waters,
or begs me to sit & clasp my knees,
whispering never test the memory of trees.