Rain is easy. So is death—
Skin and bone
Break open like an old manuscript
And the news begins to travel.
Not tribal but interloping,
Leap into the forest tough
And salty as dragons. And all night
Like an iron magnet through the fields,
This way and that, wherever
The does are waiting to wrestle us
Into their warm traps. And the marshes
Spice with their black fragrance
The wheaten miles. And somewhere one tree
Tall as a lighthouse: the secret
Castle of honey.