No trinket nests inside my bra, no metal impress
squishes into blood-red wax, not the otter’s
footprint in the river mud.

Neither ring, clasp, cartouche,
made visible as a jeweled chain
of grief or transient parchment of pain.

Come out of the night of wandering
and settle where I may give you warmth
bound in memory of a naked day

on a mountain full of golden weeds.

Read more "The Seal on My Heart This All Soul’s Day"