mountain woman, mountain woman,
won't you come down to the river?
where bears sing falsetto groans and wolves stripe their fur in cranberry;
you are bare-footed climbing the grandfather trees, wild-bird paint in your
eyes, prickles under your toenails, and thunder drowns in water below.
raccoon-children with their mischief-hands sleep in your hair and crawl
down your slate-rock nose; skeleton-men along your gorge beneath your
upper lip where sirens would ride their horses along your jawline,
and grey is your wisdom with empty caverns. mountain-man paws his
gravels, sits against the lightning where war-husbands eagle themselves.
you are an eastern fire; lonely stags occupying themselves in harpsichords,
their antlers resting on your breasts until wind moves them down meters
below your abdomen.
but you are a falconer owl with ancient eyes. whisper winds in your fingers
dance along deer-legs and hoof; you whither the moon under your eyelids,
where the wolfman barricades himself in your in