Caught – a poem

 

I am caught —
deep —

in the lie
of her,

in the naked
and vulnerable —

 in the lengthening
out
of her —

caught —

 in the tangle
and
thicket —

caught by the full moon
between shadows

  under deliberate
constellations —

    or —

like the comet
spending eternities
in the dark,

        till caught
by light cast —

rushing,
giddy toward the sun —

   its tail
casting off silver —

like the lover
when his
prodigal bride

      returns —

or like the stag,
running toward his mate,

      horns jammed
between two birches —

         till next spring

         leaps out,
full of green
and light,

from the wide
white circles

    of two
now astonished eyes.