In the January flame everything

curls to the core to cure the cold.

The drool from your chin gleams

like seraphim.

When you became a hunting dog

in an incomparable cage,

I rose above the earth

like a nuclear cloud.

You’ve been hungry for so long,

my flowers asleep in their

bulbs dream of you as soil,

as a rain of blood.

Gnaw the chain link

and drop yourself as a wind

into the cold.

January burns like a wild

thing on the run.