Break open the branch. Inside–
there is lime and tree foam. Like marrow.
The white liquid that illuminates
the skin, full of leaves and freshly-plucked
strawberries. Like dawn, opening:
he captures this about her
in a painting, surrounds her
with blood oranges, places roses
around her face. The girl becomes something
like a funeral, the white-marrow quality
of her skin, the hair curled across
a pillow, the hands poised
for picking daisies.