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I’ll Open No Other


I’ll open no other—
a tree-line soul is mine—

I’m not a ground
that you can cover, harbor

green, leav-y green. The hard return
of my Winchester hurts me.

I feel its dark body
on my arms, talk-talking

to me. Hum of index, my finger
slipping to its stock—

I want to say something about
light here, I want to say

something like a name. I want
to imagine you here,

wet and open, wind and wave.
Shaking your terrible hands.

You move right through me.
And the black plums

of my feet are sweetly bled.
Dire horse, dire man.

I fled you, and then you fled.