deer-hide kisses and blood in your teeth,
the thrill of the chase and stakes set steep,
certain death, and rebirth—
the promise of more than kind words
once you wake from feigned sleep.
Where You Are
kith and kin—enough, perhaps, save what you left
in the chapel-croft’s green: love running deeper
than a boy-king’s vows, fiercer than his icy queen.
How You’ll Find Me
by the stones underfoot,
by the hoarfrost, and by
the harsh truth of prayers misspoken;
by the windblown scent of wine,
by light of the Plough as it crosses the sky.