antlers bud blood-pink     twelve points

rise with woman pain                     always the escaped

                    smell of iron and shame             I stain

serve sore at table in apron whites              pour wine

                    fork meat diners         finger silver

knives around this heartbeat                     centerpiece

                    of one’s own rack thorned and tender

the curious read my roses there

                    a dozen              tines hardened

                    one for each lunar month          each apostle

each egg in a box          a bone curl for each step of away

                    from lush life          when sheet ghosts wilt

down to milk of All Souls’ Day

                                                      mortal most          scarlet

                    injury             jackstraw arrows fly at my

                    cry-alive         and God

                                   says Praise me