HEART SHAPED STONE

All the neighbors were unknown, constant mud
& rusted skeletons in the yellow yards,
the long two years I lived in the river house.

Seasonal fields of corn bunched against washboard
roads with signs of deer & men stalking them.
I wondered briefly about the killing.

All the light fell east across the fertile bottoms
flashing locked windows into plasma screens.
My 12 year old daughter tied tight in a Texas trap.

You came along after I bought my new bed
& dressed the bedroom like a prom date, purple
flowers pinned to various walls with old paste.

Every morning the phone wires sang with frost,
translucent killdeer & dove wings rising like sap.
Skull & ribs all that remained of the wounded deer.

The heart shaped stone sat without notice on my dresser
until I gave it to you one new year night, a surprise
revelation of my life, inside the burled wooden box.