[from Barbara Guest's Collected Poems, ed. Hadley Haden Guest, Wesleyan, 2008]
Fixed in my new wig
the green grass side
I impart to my silences
Climate cannot impair
neither the gray clouds nor the black waters
the change in my hair.
Covered with straw or alabaster
I'm inured against weather.
The vixen's glare, the tear on the flesh
covered continent where the snake
withers happily and the nude deer
antler glitters, neither shares
my rifled ocean growth
polar and spare.
for the glass harpoons
lying under my lids
icy as summers
where the glaciers melt
into my autumnal winter-fed cheek
hiding its shudder in this kelp
cracked as the air.