Daphne's Warning

don't bury your wildness
that rakish salvation from soap and Jane Austin
it is neither silk purse nor sow's ear and
you can chase it all you like, down stone steps
all the way to Mongolia
toward worm holes tunneling into a ninth dimension
along tracks of spidery shoots tracing runic mementos
lost until February; remember how
subtly your own reflection fills
with cobwebs because still pools dried up last fall
remember every beveled lip of crystal between
you and this feral kin has bent light so obliquely,
shapes shift, and when you look up, the sky is full
of beet roots teeming with trichomes
they have cornered a herd of little girls
striped skirts billowing in undercurrents, blowing east
don't bother running, each wilderness waits
instead find the nerve to follow ivory laced
fissures defining your own fault lines
find the nerve to reconcile with Persephone
embrace your Palestine, knowing even mealy faced
scalawags dance with the rain, and when
you finally catch the golden salmon, cook
a little past burned, feed the best morsels
to your wildness and don’t bury it again


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