If

If

If this heat spread soft as butter,
gentle as morning birds
and the breast feathers lining nests,

if this sun cast cool shadows,
where water runs beneath tall trees,
and damselflies glitter in the gloom,

if this day stretched
from misted blue of dawning
to full moon dusk,

silver and solemn,
drifting languid
as a swan’s neck,

perhaps I would not feel
the sharp clenching of
merciless steel teeth,

the fear that dusk,
silver moon and deep night
may not be enough
to sooth the burning.