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.