On this rooftop she sings like a siren
tonight, woman in a skirt of weather,
hem of infinite light. Strangers pass,
looking up to the source of song, but
can see only the frost of her ankles,
a swirl of snowflake in winter sky.
Underground her wail is molten, private
and forgotten. She has been transparent
but not anymore. Her see-through skin
now crimson, everything banging in
her bones. She will not be distracted from
dark pots dripping on the stove of rage.
Somewhere it is always cold, but she can’t
police the temperature, though she tries,
grasps at night glitter like a baby,
new to this world. Sapphires drape her hips
but these shiny keys do not unlock
the spring leaf breeze place she revels in.
Far-off moon, her fingers cannot catch it.
She wants to hold its icy hand but time
keeps bending, evidence dripping into
the numb past. Her wardrobe about to blow.
One hot string connects her to my heart
where she sways to sleep’s dark sonata.
("Seasoned" appeared in the Wolverton's collection, Ruin Porn, Finishing Line Press 2017)