Portrait in Winter

I wanted him to be ancient, a silhouette in winter,

a cornfield under snow, a scarecrow.

I wanted to unsew his crooked smile,

to rub away the jagged edges. My fingers

stuck in the pigment. Barbwire and thistle

caught in my clothes.  His element

was the wind.  His eyes were wind-worn

from looking, looking.

The pupils had faded away.

How to bring him together,

me in his shadow listening to the wind,

to him, to his cuffs and sleeves…dancing.