A final throw of the dice

Just look at you.

A face composed of pebbles.
Three parallel limbs of birch.
Prosthetic hearts for running water…

The trees floated off downstream
at my final time of asking
while the fenced-in sky enclosed
our reflections with ugly sunsets,
bridges to be suffered,
fresh buds of landscape dripping
from severed branches like oil.

The tips of the holly
leaves have been
dipped in your curved blood.

Beneath the world
I found another world
where I least expected you.
It was old and mossy. I gave birth to it.