River Cloth

The river descends into persimmon evening air,

amber streams echo rose mallow in the sky’s throat,

sun tinctures carmine lions to burnish your invisible mirror.

Light pigments gold dresses of red fabric on the water,

light illumines the glass roofs in pearl,

we sift a grain of sunlight from the taste of water’s ashes,

beyond the gate of approaches, I fasten a vial of dye.

We wrap clean apples in damask bands of river cloth,

you stretch a ring gesture to intuit the language of light’s silence,

long braids fall as your head leans back to the sand.

Pech Merle

Smoke paint contours an ochre horse to gallop 

beyond the imagining wall,

you open a book of air inside this perfect dark.

I knife flint to scar a ceremony on the world you birthed,

the ritual animal disfigures my arm.

We exalt at the silence of thought,

the eye of the cavern presages the sign of your origin,

a slip lamp flares from the ashes we shed.