The stranger’s     fist packed
            with sweets     his breath
basil     you’ll want
            
            always     to be held
by him     water
            in a jug     which holds inside
 
itself snow     melting slowly
            to wet     in his hands
promises     nougats
 
            his lips     lemons
you will know     it never
            lasts     forever
 
you will lay     down with lions
            happy     to be prey
your men     will leave
 
            behind strange coins     sick crops
violet eyes     left hands
            right     fingers
 
thumbprints     your father’s
            blade     you will lean
morning over     the glassed
 
            river     reflecting
your dead     mother’s face