A Life That Curls

Today it occurs to me
I could be allured by a man

who lives in a yurt. His rug--
circular, red, cerulean.

No straight lines,
no linear conversations.

I would brazenly flirt with him.
Round nights, soft walls. Our words

curve time, curtain no secrets.
Let me burn down

my old corners under the perfect
swirling skirt of the night sky.

What Is Woven

caterpillar feast
does the willow recognize
her thinning shadow?

my ear
to last night’s cocoon
susurrus of spinning silk

white cocoon
the green caterpillar
settles into her winter silk

behind the thin screen
the caterpillar undresses
I am voyeur