New Hampshire Mini-Trilogy

I could've used you in New 
Hampshire that summer, rope-
swinging into Contoocook River,
dope-huffing out in the fields
with Jon Anderson, his gang,
your future rival (unbeknownst
to all) tapping her feet in anticipation
of new reasons to mope, make
metaphor. I could've understood
why it might be that your rival
could never be your friend
too tense about counting her fingers,
toes, too loose on the juice, or
(cruelly, for all) maybe just right, simpatico?

As the world between her legs tightened around
her, what she saw in bed with me was stark: okra,
stamens, roots, all that in nature coalesces in erect
growth; and a shadow father bent, then erect, then
bent again, perverse from amassing wealth in a world
whose submissiveness poisons him. Beneath the sultry,
wooded surface, what I saw was a semi-frightened
animal, along for an all-night ride (gruesomeness of
4 a.m. New Hampshire sun), knife thusly thrusting
into the backs of everyone around her, managing
to have stamina enough against constraint to take
what she was taking. The mattress thumped: above,
an angel was unable to conceal laughter, understanding
it was all in the script, including the garish sun's leer. 

Grape soda bottle on the desk; wind, out of
Eleusis, shut the door. Our clothes came
off; your limbs spun like spokes. I peered
outside; it was light. New Hampshire summer
sun, four a.m. Poets to face at breakfast.
Workshops to sit through, lectures, but I
knew I'd never have you the right way
again, or any way. We'd done the thing
once we'd been meaning to do, so as I
stepped from the window, gazed at you
dozing, naked, I thought to myself, maybe
that's what amounts to a state of grace
you're given something once, fully, so
that you may be satiated with it, & that's it

*Part 1 appeared in The Argotist Online as New Hampshire; Part 2 appeared in Otoliths 50 as Hit or Miss;  all three parts are taken from the manuscript-in-progress Something Solid.*