To the Egtved Girl

by CHAD TEMPLES

Poor heron, time-stewed, nothing left but skirt. How should I take you in, a sketch in dirt? Sungirl. Wild treasure. Boneless Diotima. When I look at you, a dumb nostalgia slinks through my brain, leaving impressions of life in the jelly grove, but its moving is rubbed out by the dull line of something dragged by the horns. Yet here you are: staged, winged. Dead things live and expand. Ghostfish climb out into the white chalk of nighttime. This is between me and you and the screen. They’re divining maps from your dust again. The bloodstopper, thumbnail, beer, straw hair: trees. What's true isn’t always the outcome of rules. Burned, loved. I say your name like one touches A moon-thing: barely, in case it corrupts.

CHAD TEMPLES lives and works in North Carolina. His poems have recently appeared in Meridian, Barrow Street, and Best New Poets 2013.