these, my summer men
who carry me gently
into the whispered evening
filling my sides
floating me through the trees
on fingers of precious words
and fragrant smiles

they have delivered me
they, who look only with the eyes
of those who have passed by
many young women
and found nothing of pleasure
in the hard embrace of winter

then now as they lay me
down in weeds
and begin to sing their
broken words of praise
i laugh uneasily
for i cannot see their faces
and i cannot remember
what they have delivered me from