She’s got this wild flower heart: one half in bloom,
one part beating, she says, it feeds on sex, rebel
and sin, adventure plus adrenaline, she says,
to sway in sun, to dance and thrive, in solar
wind, in crescent moonlight, she says, but
the canopy here is frosted thick, the air
is dense in diesel and pitch,
and she’s taut in ties and
terracotta, and she
keeps that heavy,
heavy thought,
very,
quiet.