A conversation

Come, old woman,
Straw-haired bones,
Draw me the vision of
My wing's tomorrow, blotched
And speckled, sliced

With fangs, razors, words.
Tell me of lovers' saliva
And age's anaesthetized 

Wounds.

Come, woman, we will sing
Of the origin of the end.
You will play me the play
of conflicts.
In sun, snow, sea, wind.
You will etch your scars
On my fitful new heart
And prune branches
Off my fig tree,
Forking paths
Abandoned,
Known,
Killed.

You are stealthy as a beetle
And lethal as a mouth.
So show me the tally,
The hills,
The needles.
The stairs you've climbed
With three, careless legs.

Pray on my lap and
Confide on my breasts
Your sleeping secrets,
Your bite-sized lies,
Your shame,
Your joy.

I run footless,
Swim limbless,
Senseless as a summer's
Ploy.

Thirsty for certainty,

Old woman, old me.