It's called Botticelli,
we play by the rules . With one initial
I search through all the names
I know. Your answers are indirect–
you tell me what you can-
Igoon
turning the first letter of your name
until it blossoms : Will.
I say I will.
* * *
Stubble foothills , snowline
of poison oak and pine. We lie down
and watch the trees turn .
You are the color of eucalyptus-
how do these trees live, bark peeled back,
more naked than anything I've touched?
Escapees, they take over the ground,
nothing grows beneath them.
A butterfly, feeding on the leaves,
becomes poisonous and survives.
* * *
You ' re lost
in the syllables ofmy name ,
you taste my arm
for a clue: I'm salty, something the sea
ground and left behind.
It
doesn't give you much
to go on.
