Hooded acorn,
assailed, besieged, ravaged
by magenta flowers.
     Mother, Father
each pours an arm
around their nut.
‘These are dangerous
times,’ mumbles Father.
Birds-of-paradise riot:
they puma roar and
transfigure into bomber
planes, growling blood-
black love-gods.
                           Mother’s lips
kiss Father’s ear. ‘I keep the
little notes you leave for me in
envelopes,’ she confides.
Father leans into the serrated
shadow of a bird’s wing as it
cuts into their bodies.