A Willing Idolatry
Misky Braendeholm
I´ve lost my heart to winter´s
first iris bloom, there between
sheets of cold grasses.
It’s an image of idolatry -
and I willingly succumb,
truant that I am
to March´s roughness.
I´m lulled from cold light’s
vagueness, out of darkness
and into sun-deprived skin.