Pine Sugar

The air is drenched with cold

that grabs at the rock with greedy fingers.

Two bushels of needles in your hand

past the spattered field

where the feet burst from a hedge

woven as right as a basket.

Sixty miles north the end of

an empire slumbers as carbon

stains the churches, the palaces

and transfixed we gaze to the arc sodium.

As yellow as cupcakes in the sky.

A girl as pretty as a river

takes hold of your hands, your heart.

And you push the tremor down

as though it were sugar

laved with resin and rain.

She smells the way holly glows

In the light of the stars in the snow.

Five cups of sugar

to bury the foliage

and wait. Until

the life has moved there.

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