Poem for Jocelyn

Built of dryads, planks
and paper (books, bags) skinned
and roasted, birches and aspens
full of squirrels.

There are three ways we come to love someone 1) We fall instantly and madly in love with them 2) We grow to love them 3) We are told to love them.

Words ring bells and her tiny
incisive letters peel
back the skin and pin down
organs so breathing occurs.

She runs up to me patting me down for chocolate, nostrils flared, and
when I ask her, "what makes you think I have chocolate," she holds out her hand.

Childhood icestorms broke
the oak's branches off with guilding, snapping
sounds all night long and made the
lilacs bloom. They need freezes, she misses New York.

She came to my party and so did Dana. They nested in the painter's
room nose to nose and left late, Dana telling me I should love her so I do.

Inner ear damage means I am
constantly falling down stairs
and in love, breaking
nothing but skinning knees and elbows.

When she heard of the love poem project she said, "write one for me,"
and I had to admit I already had .