Black Snow

My beautiful mother, white as cream

pushed the apple, a strange giant nipple

towards me, and I bit.  It was so sweet.

They say tiny men with big heads set me

on a mountaintop among wildflowers

and visiting deer, in a greenhouse

where I should have wilted but did not.

The white-armored knight slipped a kiss like satin

upon my lips, so I followed him through the clearing

but it was too late.  One taste of poison, and

ever after, no nectar could come even close.

Yes, I know.  I should worship the impotent sun,

but cannot.  It still greens up and blushes the

fruit trees, their pluckers delirious over Spring.