The Word's Pink Warding Scheme In Spring

folly warm and meekly spread
a salmon moose cap on its head

little girl
you walk the fairy ring
of the old stone well's
wall edge

a corpse
in the spring meadow

dry
smiling

with a bee
in its navel

I hear the anvil
I hear the thorn black song

bats are welling
from the place they call
witches armpits

a dog is licking
its unsheathed sword

moth's tongue

cochlea

ale
host
haver

I fly