Late April, lilacs choke froward air
and after dark you ford the metal threshold
into my cottage with a handful,
thick stems clumping in your fist,
hold them like an offering,
Get over this. They smell so
Like drawing straws
I think, picking from your pink
hand stolen lavender blossoms.
I arrange them in a jam jar,
let go and watch a few slouch
umbrella the oak table.
These are actions I love:
pinching thorny, purple branches,
boring into their green ends, finding out where
the spirit starts coming forth.
"Lilac Thieves" appears in Shelter(Alice James Books, 2009).