you, a white wolf moths follow you because you hold the moon in your mouth, a silver orb on your tongue, a white glass eye; from my lips pour the larvae of our letters, ( a forgotten wing, i leave echoes of my whispers in the dust on the backs of moths, where my eyes are closed in an emerald soft moment, on amethyst tongues veiled by moss ); you are what dreams are made of, your soft lilac threads and golden twine fingertips making my heart into a smear of whispers; you, in a veil of forest fog, i see only your hollow eyes and ink spilling from your jowls; fawn spots i carry-- craters of shadows, lavender wounds-- a pale arrowed fawn, where blood clots are as violet orchids, moons on my back, eyes on my wings; if you find my iris, will you remember me, the softer moments and breaths-- but my echoes, a banshee wailing fawn, i am the fallen tree of the forest no one hears, my echo does not return, it sits on mountains, inside a soft mirage, within a love letter sealed with honey, a feather, my lashes, ( inside: a glass eye with poems for an iris, a broken black ivory cameo in the shape of a fawn, a bottle full of chipped glass sailboats ); you, a white wolf, of obsidian whispers, indigo stain round my ankle by your labradorite flumes, lakes of auroras, the spell of a new moon wolf making the fractures of a porcelain heart, sonnets of a lost fawn, you, ( the only wolf that feasts )