Your breath and mine ran away together
through dew-covered grass
and was felt by the mud and the rock,
seen by the owl on the branch,
chilled by the evening and the season,
faintly abraded by the rope burn,
lifted by the swing,
swirled by the wind,
pulled by their own hearts
We found something new
in the blurring colors,
in the shortness of time,
in the uninhibited expressions,
in the rhythmically carnal motions
The woodcarver and taxidermist
make new life out of dead things
You are more puppet than mannequin,
more windup than pullstring,
more rubber than porcelain,
making the best with what you are,
creating life out of dolor
and some atoms
