186 The Meadow Cadralor #4: “wells” Lori A. Howe 1. Even now, this new form pulls me; fierce, a new lover, a leaning into. My fingers stain with it like turmeric; my mouth fills with strawberries 2. Outside Órgiva, I drink from a deep blue well and fall to earth in lemons and rosemary 3. I am not taken by her earring; I want to see her hair, a simple coppering, the curls he painted before the linen 4. The toothbrush disappears into September; it will outlive me, knowing only my mouth, the curvature of my lips, for ten thousand years 5. Before you touch my mouth, leave a silver coin in the grass beneath this tree, its gaze to hold the moment open, a green glass bottle unbroken inside a ripening of olives
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