i am in my house of dawn
molten light streaming across
the arches of my feet
a thick, curved hip

i have seen myself as
the queen of wands
trapped in the hard amber
savoring the weight of a staff

at my right,
the stag is large
heavy in his own crowned way
shaking off the dew of every morning after

what i touch
turns to sour wood
liquid sap running slow
filling up every insect that dares to

slip inside