All Hallows Eve

Lines of coke,
bloody brides,
candy cane I suppose.

In an alleged
mescaline dream
I stumbled into you
at San Fermin,
everyone in red
and white,
a festival
so out of place
here in this cold city listening to
misty mountain hop
amid the browning patches .

Desiccated
wildflowers,

not a single one of whom
would
take their lives in their hands
to steady a grasp
on something so fleeting

as art.

You’re pursing your lips
again

and I can feel that my hand is
wrapping visions
round the night
trailing
your blood,
a beautiful
deepened crimson against the frozen sky,
crystallizing in a wave.
I reach out to touch it
and you shudder,
the crest breaking
against your turning back,
long red hair
smelling
of crisp burnt almonds.