Poem for the Beginning of the Fall

My body's inscrutable nooks & crannies
are redolent of burning leaves.

Under the rosewater stains and damage ingrained;
beneath the heavy dust, this knotted wood
holds the hope of a fine grain. A secret
curio slot houses my arcane parcel-
ribbon-bound rags, furrowed swoons,
tiny dried apple for a ghost horse.
Sepia-toned irises bloom
into molten eyes. Crows swoop
and consort with a Black Parrot.

Bedecked with cloves and velvet, a nose
nuzzles my wrist. The dark expanse is dappled;
soiled sleeves are kissed clean.
Fragrant steam rises up from nail beds.
Glossed ungula molt. Stiff-winged beat
against the seams of an antique suitcase.

I've been rusted shut; cluttered
with superficial possessions. I've been beaded, fretted, twisted
with flimsy trinkets, shammy imprints, ratty tongues.
I want to unbridle the ghost; burnish her hooves
to a feverish sheen. I want to rip open
the suitcase and fling a soft rainbow
of camisoles into the field. Let the crows
choose silken linings for their nests.