strange garments

I was naked in sorrow.
You clothed me in vines
of honeysuckle. I fed
sweet orange trumpets
your name
with my own winter whisper
my most tenacious light.
The horns are wilting!
Evergreen clings
to my thin voice.
I rip root fingers
from my lips and throat.
Again I am naked.
I stand here
clutching stunning vines
while sorrow buds
a thousand ears
a thousand eyes.


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