Two Poems

Garden Run Wild

I slipped a thorn beneath your hoof.
Rubbed my scent, a wild cinnamon,
thyme, into your nostril with my thumb
like ointment. You’re slippery,
a scent. All thumbs, nostrils, hooves.
Beneath cinnamon. Thorns caught
in my ointment, rubbing listless.
Like thyme grown wild beneath brier,
thorns. Cinnamon slipping
into my sunset, your listless thumbs
like hooves over my slip.
I’m scenery. A wild.
Thorned, you’ve left me hooved
and slipping in cinnamon. In thyme.

Ode to the Barycenter of a Binary Star

Well-oiled pearl,
space spindle,
your two bodies revolve
with infinitesimal patience,
a bond bigger than blood.
How not to love stars
that circle like giant electrons
around you, nucleus, vow-
like point of force. One dot
in the center of nothing
that changes everything,
orbits reduced to geometry.
My, what a beautiful asterism.
Still, one says “ascension,”
the other, “declension,”
all those exes and ohs.
The desire for occultation
runs deep. See how they stay
so long on the same plane.

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