New Hours
by Cherie Bullock

Your mouth and my mouth
and between us we bare
the brightness of this
evening, you teach my hands
to ride through the snow
into your strange lostness.

Like myself, who has no name,
I am who I thought I was to be,
in the mirror in a woods,
in a brilliant woods asking
for a smile that you can
give me, the leaves are red
and yellow and I am driven
into them from your brown hair
by the night.

Copyright © 2022 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.