Until Peppermint

My smell retrieves the somberness of your ego,
Cast puppet shadows, mud dancing in the yard with your Indian twin.
A cornucopia of things from that bag you brought me back in August,
Unboxed—-Untouched, Untethered 

To be unloved until the cicada’s final whine, 
Stretched over muslin on the back porch
Poached–and pricked, 

Lie on your back
Until peppermint season.