In Whose Territory We Kiss

I

The bodies of the thwarted lovers
lose behind the folds of the leaves.
The Spring came eary; dogs devide in
two gangs barking, and it feels hard
to discern in whose territory we kiss.
Even at the zenith of the beasts’ battle
we mate. The brightest star whose name
is irrelevant guides us through the harmones-ocean,
through the hidden and sunken rocks
and through the forgotten booby traps time laid once.

II

I have spent too many mornings
thinking of asking you, friend,
“How did your war go? So much went
away through the field of vision, us.” 
In the dale between my brows 
came the famine of love. In the silo
of consciousness a fistful of blue grains 
turns the rest bad. Night’s bird slow-burns
the air I breathe. I dial. I dial. Your phone doesn’t connect.

III

A girl wearing muddy-water frock
chases and grabs a red heart
balloon escaped from the party.
Oh, love, I shall sell this as a stock photograph.

.

.