gold

gold

wherever you go, you bring evening.
hair moist with the soggy gold
of Sunday grass. Tired yawn
pulling in the wet cascade
of howling leaves in
the beating pulse of your
uncertain grasp,
your gently wounded hand--
i feel broken slivers of
the afternoon sun. Yellow shafts,
the light buttercup
a fading tissue glowing in
halved ochre on the bathroom
porcelain. Next to that spotty
mirror, which shows you
something different each evening.