Frosty Woods in Summer

into them prematurely

his and mine these woods

not

for you.

we can make stones and put God in them

and we can make a pile of them

a pile, a pile, a pile of them

and we can make a pile of them, we can

only

make a pile of them.

we have made stones and we say

yous have made stones too and

that is all we know [of and to] each other we are ghosts

still

these woods are haunted by us

the haunting is a thing felt

my ghost, I cannot kiss you

but [or] for

I love you

in the only way love can be

piled in the river

being tender stones.

I hold otherwise the phantom hand of a flesh-man

who skips my stone heart down river

where it meets the heap

the heap, the heap, the heap of stones there

it is the heap which is the hearth of loving

the phantom heap who's lost by counting

whose reality is only

whose constituents are lonelies.