—after Edna St. Vincent Millay
not into the woods to follow the quick
apostrophes of wolves, their paws stained
with wild choke-cherry. Nor after the skiff
carrying the Persian woman with bangled
wrists, her taffeta gown heavy with rain.
But here, where you have planted deep salt-licks
so that imagination need not strain
after some rare lynx across the Baltic.
No. Instead, they come to me, all things far.
With you, I have everything I can't do
without: even stars find me on wanderjahrs
through night because they are following you—
you who breaks wide open worlds undreamed of
making me more unmendably in love.