Envelopes

When gloom arrives,
mouths tarred fingers, envelopes frogs of you,
taps under oceans of ice,
kicks for air
I can be a cannister.
When you find yourself
wet from feeling
for a lacewing chrysalis you couldn't force to fruiting
the wounds of which left
a deathwatch beetle on timber knees
we can find a vacant spot,
make hip wide nests for robins,
wait
as aches drop like shadows
while the earth continues to orbit
a flaming, ancient sun.