acrostic poem

thoughts through my head
for these white arms about my neck
in and of itself
at midnight
as i lie roofed in, screened in
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the darkness rolls upward
under dusky laurel leaf
out of me unworthy and unknown
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
skies they were ashen and sober
backward, turn backward
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale