in mountains. I was that girl again.
A blue panther shadowed the girl
into the meadows. Green butterflies
swirled around burgeoning
wildflowers. In the grass dance fields
the girl dreamed of a boy
who would love her. He’d be
the sky-eyed one bearing
an armful of clover.
Last night I was back in mountains.
I was that girl making love with the boy
inside midsummer’s sun. His lips
kissed the petals of her eyelids,
lips, petals, quivering butterfly wings.
His body singing became a meadow
for the stem of hers. They were all
redskin blossom pollinated by solstice.
This morning girl woke five hundred miles away.
This morning hair snowed down my arms.
O Indian Paintbrush Boy.