38. Buckwheat

And two smoldering mountain sunsets

Under the valley roads of her eyes.

There was a late autumn cricket,

A hangover of summer song,

Scraping a tune

Of the late night clocks of summer,

In the late winter night fireglow,

This in a circle of black velvet at her neck.

In the corner of the left arm a dimple, a mole, a forget-me-not, and it fluttered a hummingbird wing, a blur in the honey-red clover, in the honey-white buckwheat.