I.In the lush yellow light before the storm,I ask you for your autograph. I’m jittery,a half-tame wolf bitch poised to boltacross the emptying bar. We talk–you over beer, me over whiskey, glassrocks-cold and skinned in water–until thunder heaves the pregnant air.You grasp the hem of my skirt, runyour fingers between skin and fabriclike a bee…
