Ornament of you hangs     around my neck
in the shape of     a smooth brown seed

you walk     In the dark     apple-eyed
along the ridges of my skin

its surface a bed of nails
you are forced onto tango-tip-toe

white conical lamps     strung down Christmas hill
wreathe this meeting with nets of damaged pearl

fire flies flicker around the rims
of honey jars

in the heart of the house, a kettle boils ―        it sounds like rain
blossom