The damp yellow frown and curl

blackened by joy, by frost,

by chance encounters

with irresistible young seasons.

I am banked safe in my bed

enjoying my immunity,

not thinking of the forces wild

that move the world and seem

to be uncontestable

in the damp yellow forest

of smoke and lusty, fluid, fertile soil.

Safe from the fingers planted

durty and deep in the yellow stain

of some unforgettable young season.