Sonnet VI

Sonnet VI

Barefooted, you tread the soft soil
damp earth of my self, quietly --
too quiet for words, or sighs
or breath – you come into the

center of my bosom like a phantom
and your hands reach up my trellis
counting the worn and tattered leaves;
I am growing warm underfoot.

With your eyes made of honey
and lips tasting of blood, your
silent invasion has caused a ripple

across my country-side; there are fires
where there was once peace. My damp earth
self is flooded with flame.