Amongst the bitten twigs and fur caught,
low shrubs where each of us
is half in the tree and half in the rock,
a skull the thumb size of climbing sleeps.

If you do not come back
I will untie the ribbons
from my hair and open the hollow
parts of my head to the wind.

You said I would do that
enough myself  -  my teeth cut,
my goose feather torn  -
no excuse for you 

baying in the wilderness
with your dead birds;
the cracks of your hands
in soil.