“I said, it’s a long roll from the doldrums
into the wintering process.
From gathering tomatoes
to oranges whose color rubs off,
from skin to wool.
From sleeping in ribcages like a white tooth
and into the drop of dead time.”

Lifting his head from the paper he noticed her orange hair.

“I like the color,” he said at the headlines.
And then he said,
“Let me embrace you tenderly.”

She laid her orange head upon her arms, she said,
“I would, but I'm all wobbly-weary,